Slaughter at VentureCon 1
by beb
Summary: Death stalks the convention unless Gary, the former Henchman 21 can do something to stop the Monarch's murderous rampage. Will this be Dean Venture's last stand as he fights to save his Giant Boy Detective convention?
1. Chapter 1

When the first grenades exploded Gary sprinted to the main doors to Workshop No. 3, a.k.a. VentureCon 1 to see who was attacking. The screams of people panicking was drowned out by the explosions of more bombs. He couldn't see anything in the alley outside, so he raced out onto the extensive front lawn of the Venture Compound. The ground exploded in front of him with a deafening blast showering Gary with dirt, turf and a sharp wind of hot gases. He threw himself into the small crater the grenades left behind just as more grenades exploded around him.

Something landed on him with a grunt of stale cigarette breath and pine scented cologne.

"Get off me, you bitch!" he snarled.

"That's no way to talk to a lady." Dr. Mrs. The Monarch protested.

"You're no lady." He pushed her aside and crawled to the top of the crater (...and I just mowed it yesterday, he stewed) and peered over the edge. Hovering in the afternoon sky over the Venture Compound, like leprous moon, was the Monarch's flying headquarters, The Cocoon. Smoke and flame would erupt from its side from time to time where teams of the Monarch's minions were leaning out of windows to fire more rocket propelled grenade.

Gary was glad to see that the teams with the rocket launchers were painfully untrained since they weren't hitting anything. He was also disgusted by their lack of preparedness. When he was running things, as the Monarch's General 21, he had run a tight ship. Minions were trained and trained again until they knew their tasks. He wouldn't have tolerated such sloppiness. Of course the reason he had resigned from the Monarch's operation was still digging her boney knees and elbows into his back as she tried to get off.

"I thought you said he was sleeping off a migraine!" Gary shouted. He could barely hear himself, the blast had so affected his hearing. He hoped she could at least hear part of what he was saying.

"That's what the bastard told me." the bastard's wife insisted. "That's why I thought I could sneak out and come here. Either he was lying to get me out of the Cocoon or the idea to do an aerial assault so fired him up he's ignoring the headache. You know how he is when he gets an idea of how to torment Dr. Venture."

"I should have known you only came here to scout out the place," Gary accused.

"Oh, come on!" Dr. Mrs. The Monarch objected,. "I'm not in costume, and you know what stickler's the Guild of Calamitous Intent is about always being in costume when on Guild business. And I signed that stupid pledge of yours. And, look," she reached into the tote bag she had brought with her as she had followed Gary out into the lawn of the Venture Compound. She took out an old and tattered book. Giant Boy Detective #6. "I've had this since I was a girl. It changed my life. I came here explicitly to have it signed by the author. A man I've admired for thirty years. The last thing I want is for him to get blown up by my stupid husband."

Gary sighed. In his heart he knew she was telling him the truth. He looked back at the wing of the main building that was Workroom No 3. Adults and children were crowded around the entrance to Venture Enterprises' Workroom No. 3 afraid to stay in the hall while the shattered roof fall down on them but afraid too, to risk the bombs falling around the building to get into their cars and flee. Dean's one-day celebration of his favorite boy adventure series looked to be going up in smoke. Literally. If Gary didn't do something there was going to be a slaughter here.

"Would it help to call him up and tell him there are civilians down here?" Gary asked. "I recall the Guild looks unkindly on excessive collateral damage during an Arching."

"I can't call him. I'm not supposed to be here. Besides, when he's in one of his moods there's no stopping him," Dr. Mrs The Monarch reminded him. She was crouching next to him in the small foxhole.

"You didn't tell him you were coming to this convention?"

"He's ... not a fan of Giant Boy Detective. That Dean likes the series is always a point of jest for him. He can be kind of cruel, as you know. I thought I could avoid that. Also - if he knew I was at the Venture's and not Arching... He'd go a bit nuts."

"And this isn't 'nuts'?" Gary asked, nodding towards the hovering Cocoon. Blasts from the rocket grenades were slowing down as the minions were running out of RPGs. "I think you ought to give him a jingle before he drops a bomb on you."

"And have him holding this over my head for the next year or two? I'd rather risk the bombs instead!"

"Then you'd better make tracks before he sends in the ground-forces."

"Right. Give me your shirt." she demanded.

Gary looked her askance. "I'm wearing a jumpsuit."

"Then give me your undershirt. Or are we going commando these days." Her tone of voice suggested that Dr. Mrs. The Monarch had a plan.

"Didn't I see you buy a Venture-Con T-shirt earlier today? Use your own damn shirt."

"It's form-fitting. I need to hide these puppies," she touched her breasts. "If one of the minions happened to notice a woman running across the battlefield...I need something large enough to disguise my figure."

With an indecisive grunt, Gary unzip the front of the jumpsuit, stripped off his undershirt and handed it to her. She promptly pulled it over her dress. It hung off her shoulders like a tent. From her VentureCon tote she pulled out a souvenir baseball cap with VentureCon printed across the front and began stuffing her hair into it. She had Big Hair. It took a lot of stuffing to fit it all inside.

"Is there a nearer door?" she asked "I want to get under cover as quick as possible."

Gary sat up a bit to orient himself. "That way," he pointed.

"Good. Remember, you never saw me today!" she scrambled out of the crater and started running. Gary gave the hovering Cocoon a final look and followed a moment later. A rocket propelled grenade exploded close behind him. The day had started so nicely, he reflected. And now he was running for his life.

Actually his day hadn't started out all that well either.

The insistent honking of a car's horn outside the gates to the grounds had woken him from a heavy sleep. He'd glanced out to see who was making the noise and was surprised to find a silver Bentley waiting impatiently for the gate to open. As Head (and only member) of Venture Enterprise's Security it was his duty to let visitors onto the grounds - after he'd made sure they weren't a threat!

He pulled on his shoes, tightened his belt and ran his fingers through his hair a couple times so that it lay more or less where it should be. Gathering up a clipboard (clipboards are important. People respect a man with a clipboard) he went out to meet the driver.

Gary was a heavy-set man of medium height. His face was round and somewhat jowly, pointing to a youth of jelly-filled doughnuts and diligent avoidance of work. A tragedy a couple years back had changed his life. He was no longer the flabby man he had been. He actually could be pretty scary when he wanted to.

"Name and purpose of visit?" he asked.

"Ask little Lord Faulteroy," the driver said, jerking a thumb towards the name in the back seat. "I'm just hired to drive him around."

"I'll still need your name and the company's name." Gary reminded him, wrote it down and went back to the rear door and tapped on the glass. The man in the seat refused to look at him. So Gary tapped on the glass harder, and when the man still refused to respond, yanked the door open and hauled the man out.

"Who are you and what are you doing here?" he asked in a gruff voice.

After a girlish shriek the man composed himself, pulled himself up importantly and with wounded dignity answered: "I am Winston Pettigrew, esquire. I was invited here for a small soiree of fans of the Giant Boy Detective series. I," he emphasized, "am the author of the aforesaid book series!" Pettigrew was short, portly and red in the face. Perhaps a precursor to gout, Gary thought. He was dressed in a well tailored tweed suit with leather patches on the elbows. Brown oxfords contrasted nicely with the tan of his suit. A small goatee failed to distract from his florid face. He looked to be about eighty.

"A soiree?" Gary echoed.

"Yes, a soiree. A soiree, in case you don't know is a small intimate gathering..."

"I know what a soiree is. There's just none scheduled for today. Who invited you?"

"Mister Dean Venture, to whom I shall certainly register my complaints about my treatment here."

"Dean, huh? Wait here." Gary turned back and entered the grounds through the small personnel gate next to the larger vehicular gate. He went into the Guard Shack before calling Dean. He could have called Dean on his wrist two-way communicator from beside the limo but he assumed there would be some shouting involved and he didn't like doing that in front of civilians.

"Hey, Gary," Dean said innocently as his face appeared on the small screen of the communicator, "what's up?"

"I'm calling about a man with a soiree."

Dean blinked, confused. "A what?"

"Someone called Winston Pettigrew, esquire, is at the gate. He says you invited him to a soiree?"

"Mr. Pettigrew is here? Great. Send him right up. I'll meet him out front. This is so great!"

"Dean, what the hell is going on here?"

"He's the Guest of Honor at our convention. We're holding a convention - VentureCon #1, the first annual Giant Boy Detective one-day convention. Isn't it exciting."

"Not to me." Gary told him. "How am I supposed to manage security for a convention when you don't tell me about the convention?"

"Well, ummmm."

"Dean. How any fingers am I holding up?"

"What? I can't see either of your hands."

"Guess!"

"What do you mean. Oh, I see. Umm, I'm guessing - one?"

"Bingo. That's what I think of your idea of holding a convention on the grounds without telling me? Did you tell your father?"

Dean looked away, then said, "Gloria thought that if might be easier to ask for forgiveness now then to ask for permission in advance."

"Uh-huh. So how many people can I expect for this "soiree?"

"I don't know. Gloria has the membership list. Hey Gloria, do you have the membership list?" Dean shouted to someone out of the range of the wrist communicator's television screen.

"That's twice you've mentioned this name. Who's Gloria?"

"You know her. we met at the mall a while back. I think it was just after you became our bodyguard. She was reading a Giant Boy Detective book. Number #21 as I recall, "The Mystery of Mandillos's Gold" You saw her..."

"Blonde girl, kind of mouse with a big rack?"

"Rack?" Dean laughed kind of nervously. "I never noticed." The way he squirmed on the communicator's tiny screen suggested just the opposite.

"So you met this girl and right out of the box decided to hold a convention?"

"Well, no. We talked a lot via IM about Giant Boy Detective and stuff and then one day the idea of a Giant Boy Detective convention came up but they didn't know of a hotel where it could be held so I said that we could hold it here because Pop has lots of empty rooms."

"Who's 'they?'" Gary could see that this was going to be a typical Dean conversation where things just get more and more complicated.

"Gloria, Heather and Tiffany."

"Gloria I got but who are Heather and Tiffany?"

"They're Gloria's friends. They also read Giant Boy Detective but they aren't big fans of him like Gloria and me. So anyway they had been talking about doing a convention because there hasn't been one in the area for like, ever and..."

"Wait, wait, wait! Dean I want to ask you a very personal question and I don't want you to think I'm being insulting or anything: but, you're are talking to girls."

"Is that wrong?" There was a little tremor in Dean's voice, a faint fear that talking to girls was one of those things he wasn't supposed to do.

"Inconceivable, but not wrong. And these girls hasn't screamed or fainted or tried to run away from you while you were talking?"

"Gary, I can talk to girl. I'm not a complete doofus."

The honking of the limo's horn reminded Gary that he still had someone waiting to get on the grounds. "I wasn't trying to be critical, just confused. OK, I'll let this guy in and you'll be responsible for anything that happens to him while he's here. Got it?

"Sure."

"And have one of your harem email me a copy of the membership list so I can know who to expect."

"Right. - Harem? You think I have a harem? I have a harem!"

"Right out of Tenchi Muyo."

"Who?"

"Never mind, send me the list and go out and meet this guy."

Gary hit the open button on the gate and went out to tell the driver were to go and how to get there. He watched the car pull up the long drive and make the turn after the front entrance to the side road that lead down to Workroom no. 3. Then he went in and looked for the files in his mail program.

The membership list had about 150 names. The names were already sorted by alphabet so he printed it out without looking at it closely. Who ever sent the list - the "from" line said "Heather" - had included a flyer for the convention as well as a program guide. He printed those as well and stuck them all to his clipboard.

From the program guide he saw that the convention wouldn't start for another couple hours but that the building would be open for dealer set-up beginning now. And sure enough there was a honk from a minivan as it pulled up in front of the gate. Two pudgy guys were in the front, the rest of the minivan was stuffed with cardboard boxes. Gary checked their names against the list. And because the Ventures have a lot of enemies of one kind of another, and not just the Monarch, he insisted that they unload and open each box so he could tell that it was not stuffed with plastic explosives.

While they were doing that Gary ran a mirror on a stick around the edges of the minivan looking for explosives under the vehicle. The boxes contained a variety of material: books, printed pamphlets and tattered piled of paper hastily stapled in the corner. "What is all this stuff?" Gary asked.

"Those" said the guy in a green T-shirt, pointing to the boxes of books, "are the Giant Boy Detective books. We've got U.S., British, Germany and Japanese editions. You'd be surprised how popular the Japanese editions are though I don't know that anyone can read 'em. Those boxes-" he pointed to the piles of stapled papers, "are Giant Boy Detective fanzines. We've got a complete run of "Under The Magnifying Glass" - that was the first GBD fanzine, very rare. We're hoping to get Pettigrew to sign them. Then they'll be worth a mint. Those," he pointed to the boxes of nicely bound pamphlets "are GBD fan-fic. We'll have to sell them under the table since the old man is here."

"Fan-fic?" Gary asked.

"Fan fiction. Kids like the stories so much that they write their own stories. Some of then are pretty good, though a lot of them are... Well, what do you expect from kids? But technically they're a violation of a copyright. Most people don't mind but with Pettigrew here, he'll raise a stink if he catches anybody with unauthorized stories. But the kids really love the fan-fic so we'll still sell a lot."

"We left the slash stuff at home," the other dealer said. He was in a yellow T with a large grease stain on the front. He began putting the boxes back into the van.

"Slash?" Gary wondered.

"Porno" Green shirt told him.

"It's not porno. Gay stuff," the other clarified. ""You know, like Kirk-slash-Spock. You'd be surprised what some people get into."

By the time that the minivan was reloaded and Gary had let them through the gate, three more cars were lined up to get in. Two of them were also dealers and while he made them open all their boxes as well, they had so much less material that the search went quickly.

The last car was a shiny, new, black Escalade; on big rimmed tires with a cattle pusher on the grill. The windows were tinted black. A step ladder ran down from the bottom of the door to near the ground instead of the usual running board. A vanity plate on the front said "MD"

Someone has a lot of money to waste Gary thought as he stepped up to the side window and waited from them to roll it down. "Name?" he asked.

"I think you know me," a soft, tenor voice lisped.

"Dr. Billy?" Gary had to stand on tiptoes to look over the bottom edge of the wide window. He could just see the large, round head of Billy Quizboy, or Dr. Billy, MD as he liked to call himself these days.

Dr. Billy had been born with multiple birth defects, including a hydrocephalic brain, a cleft palate and stunted growth. As a child Billy had been a prodigy on the game show circuit until a cheating scandal banned him for life. Since then he had had to eke out an existence any way he could. Somewhere along the way he had lost an eye and one hand. The eye he covered with a patch. The hand was replaced with an amazingly delicate robotic prosthesis. For unknown reasons, since he had never gone to school, Billy began doing underground surgery. His little hands were amazingly skilled at the work and his encyclopedic knowledge of the human body made his work among the best in the world.

Recently Billy had shown up with a bunch of degrees and certificates from the premiere medical institutions of the country, all affirming that Bill Quizboy had graduated from their institution with flying colors. He had opened offices in a lavish medical center and started calling himself "Dr. Billy, MD" and kind of got cranky when people - even old friends - forget the "Dr." part of his name. At the moment Dr. Billy was rolling in the dough from his many operations.

"Indeed, it is me, Gary," Billy lisped.

"Here for the convention?"

"Giant Boy Detective has been an idol, I dare say an icon all during my life. When life had me down I would always ask 'what would Giant Boy Detective do'. And then I'd do it."

"Isn't this a little more car than you need."

"Isn't it great? We just got it this week!" A melliferous voice cut in from across the front seat. Leaning towards the open window was a thin, weedy man dressed all in white. His hair was white to match his suit and cut with a large swath falling over his eyes like some 80's hair band member. His eyes, not readily visible inside the dark interior of the SUV were pink. Peter White was an albino.

"We thought it was time that Dr. Billy started driving in style." Peter White was in some way Dr. Billy's constant companion though there was nothing to suggest that Billy was gay. As for Peter - any guy who dresses all in white has to be a little suspect. But theirs wasn't a sexual relationship as far as Gary could tell. Peter White was, as far as he knew, a life-long mooch. He'd lived off the small earnings Billy had made before all the degrees had come flocking in. And he looked to be mooching now, only on a larger scale. Why Billy put up with Peter was a hard question to answer, unless it was that Billy had so few friends that he's take the false friendship of a mooch over nothing.

(Actually Peter received a small stipend from the OSI to report on any changes in Billy's condition. Billy had been an unwitting spy for the OSI in the past and though his memory had been wiped there was always the fear that it might come back, with what the OSI deemed disastrous consequences.)

"This car has everything," Peter was going on. "Air Condition, Satellite radio, GPS, Rear View video for backing up. auto-parallel parking. Heated Leather seats, lumbar support and build-in massage."

"Yeah, nice," Gary said indifferently. None of that stuff sounded important to him. "Billy, how do you drive this thing. The pedals must be kind of far away for you?"

"I had the cockpit specially outfitted with hand controls replacing the ones on the floor. And the bolster seat is built into the regular seat and hydraulically controlled. His hand moved one of the controls mounted on the steering wheel. "I can move up-" and his head rose above the level of the window rim," or down."

"Nice ride." Gary concluded. "Anybody else in there I should know about."

"No, it's just the two of us. "

Gary waved them through then went back into the guard shack to await the next visitor.

They came in trickles and clumps. More dealers at first, about a dozen in all. Gary couldn't believe there could be enough business at the convention to make it worth their while but then Gary had no idea how much people spent at a convention like this or what a dealer considered a good take. Before the death of his buddy Henchman 24 he had been a big nerd, collecting all sorts of Star Wars paraphernalia, action figure and such. He had dressed up in costumes and staged short skits with other fans but he had never worked on a convention, had never considered the economics of one. In fact the whole idea that a convention had to have a plan just like any other business was something alien to him. Conventions, like network TV, was something to be enjoyed, not understood.

About an hour before the convention the attendees started coming, mostly fathers with their sons - or surprisingly more often, with their daughters. While he still insisted on inspecting the trunks of every car, he didn't look as closely in then as he had originally. There were several visitors who were not on the membership list. Walk-ins they called themselves. One such had given him a shock.

An old, old Lincoln Continental had pulled up to the gate.

He went up to the driver's side window and asked, "Name?"

"My dear boy, you know who I am." A soft, gravelly voice responded. Gary looked at the small, old oriental man behind the wheel. His clipboard feel through nerveless fingers.

"Dr. Zinn!"

"Eh? You're not Brock Samson!" The old man behind the wheel was as surprised as Gary was. Dr. Zinn was one of the oldest and most famous super-villain. Now in his 80s or perhaps even his 90s, he was retired from the Super-Villain business, or so he said. He claimed he had seen the error of his ways and lived now only to find peace and tranquility. But the man had been a master of deceit. How could one know if he was telling the truth.

"Where is the dear boy? I thought he was the Venture's bodyguard?"

"He was recalled by the OSI. Had some important missions to run for them," Gary told him. He marveled at the car. It must have dated from the 70s. It was enormous. Gary hadn't seen a car that large - ever. It looked big enough to seat three full size men across the back seat and had actual legroom in front and back. The trunk could easily hide a Seal assault team.

"Ah, yes. Col. Gather's remarkable bloodless coup. I had heard that there were some outlying units of the OSI that were resisting his coup."

"It wasn't a coup. General Triester personally picked Colonel Gathers to succeed him," Gary replied stiffly.

"Of course. Whatever you say. But didn't Sgt. Hatred take Brock's place?" Dr. Zinn's pale eyes looked up at Gary. He had a constant smile on his lips like a man who had discovered a great truth.

"Sgt. Hatred disappeared right after being reconciled with his wife."

"Ah, the lovely Princess Tinyfeet. You remember Princess Tinyfeet, my dear?"

Gary realized that Dr. Zinn was speaking to someone else in the front seat. He bent down to peer better through the car window. There was a woman across the seat. She was as old as Dr. Zinn but had had a lot of plastic surgery. Her face was smooth and tight. Perhaps a little too tight. Botox made it look smooth and almost plastic. Her hair, reddish, was done up in a bun. She wore a short green dress. Her legs looked stunning, considering her age. Her breasts were enormous and pointed towards the sky. She looked at Gary and smiled with her lips. The rest of her face didn't move. "Why yes. I remember Princess Tinyfeet well. We met at some of the Guild parties you were invited to. She was a lovely girl - but disappointed that her husband didn't understand her better. So they were reconciled?"

"Apparently," Gary said, "then they disappeared. It may have been a second honeymoon but Sgt. Hatred went off without his medication so the fear is that he's reverted to his pedophile ways."

"That would be sad," Dr. Zinn said. "He tried so hard to find inner peace but seems unable to uncover his weaknesses." Dr. Zinn sighed. "So who are you, someone I should know?"

"Gary Fuu, Sir. Ah - I doubt that you've heard of me."

"Are you the Gary who quit the Monarch. You were quite the talk of the cocktail circuit, wasn't he dear."

"Oh, you're that Gary." Mrs. Zinn agreed with her husband. "Everyone was so amazed that you'd left..."

"Or, got away alive." Dr. Zinn added.

"Yeah, whatever. So what brings you to Venture Enterprises today?"

"Why, what else, the Giant Boy Detective convention. I've been a big fan of the series since I was a small lad. I read the original Giant Boy stories back then, before they revised the series in the 60s. None of the people involved in the original series are still alive, sadly, but I am nonetheless thrilled at the chance to see the author of the new series."

"Un huh," Gary said. He thought about it for a moment, then pulled out a blank sheet from the bottom of his clipboard and wrote a couple lines on it. "Look, I know you're retired and all that, but I've still got to ask you to sign this affidavits." He handed the sheet to Dr. Zinn to read.

"I, the undersigned, do vow and affirm that I am visiting the Venture Enterprises Compound with no hostile intent to Dr. Venture, his sons Hank and Dean Venture or any one visiting the compound on this day." Dr. Zinn read. "This hardly seems necessary, dear boy. As I told you already I have no malicious intent towards anyone anymore."

"Sign it or go home," Gary insisted.

Dr. Zinn sighed. Read over the page again and borrowed Gary's pen to sign the paper.

Gary looked at the signature carefully. "Have a good time, Dr. Zinn," And pressed the control button to open the gate. He watched the ancient car drive up the road.

He shook his head at the thought of a major heavy-weight villain being a fan of Giant Boy Detective. Who would have thought. He turned to the next car in line, a beat up old Geo Metro.

"Hello, Gary," a deep masculine voice greeted him.

"You!" He exclaimed, "What are you doing here?"

"Attending the convention, what do you think?" It was Dr. Mrs, The Monarch. She was dressed in a brown dress with a small hat on her head. "As you can see I am not in costume. I am off duty today, having a little vacation."

"You're telling me that you're a fan of Giant Boy Detective? I find that hard to believe!"

"But it's true. I read my first GBD back when I was ten. It transformed my life. Suddenly I realized that life was completely open. I could be whatever I wanted to be. I didn't have to be someone's wife."

"But you are someone's wife."

"On my own terms, Gary. _On my own terms!_ I am _Doctor_ Mrs. The Monarch, not just Mrs. The Monarch. I'm part of a duoarchy, a co-equal in this partnership. And if I want to go to a convention about my girlhood idol I'll damn well go to that convention!"

"Nice speech. Did you try it out on the Monarch?"

Dr. Mrs the Monarch sighed. In a conversational voice she said, "Malcolm has a migraine today. He went back to bed."

"A migraine?"

"Men have migraines, too!"

"So he doesn't know you're here. Keeping secrets from the Monarch, hmmm? Playing with fire."

"Every married couple keeps secrets from the other."

Gary was scribbling on another sheet of blank paper. "You always was good at keeping secrets," he said

"Can we not go there, Gary. It's old news. It's time to move time."

"You laughed at me."

"I saved your life. If I had done anything but laugh at you the Monarch would have killed you on the spot."

"Sign this," Gary ordered. In the back of his mind he kind of realized that what she said was true but he wasn't ready to accept that truth. He had been crushed, demoralized when she had laughed at him when he'd confessed a crush on her. Nor did it matter that since then he had had a girlfriend, a real girlfriend, even if she turned out a little crazy about killing Hank Venture.

"What is this?" Dr. Mrs, The Monarch exclaimed, throwing the paper back at Gary. "My word if honor isn't good enough? The fact that I'm in civilian clothes not my costume? I'm not going to Arch anybody today!"

"Then sign the paper. It's a formality, but one I insist on." He shoved the paper back at her.

"Sheesh!" she snarled and scribbled a name across the bottom of the paper.

"By the way, what name are you registered under at the convention?"

"My real name, Sheila Kowalski."

"Kowalski?"

"What? It's a good, Polish name. Gary _Fuu."_

"Sorry, I was looking under 'Ballcrusher.' You weren't there."

The gate started opening. She put the little Geo into drive. "Get a life," she snapped as she drove through.

Gary sighed and turned to the next car in line. How many more super-villains were planning to show up today he wondered.


	2. Chapter 2

When the bombs first exploded on the roof Dean Venture's first impulse was to shake his fist at the falling debris and curse who ever it was that was trying to destroy his convention. This was pretty amazing because usually Dean's first impulse was to scurry to the safety of the Panic Room. Having shook his fist Dean was at a lost for what to do next. But do something he must because this was his convention. He was the chairman, the "chair" as they said in the biz, the head honcho, the big cheese. It was - mostly - his idea to have the convention, and he did a lot to plan, organize and set-up the convention. He felt pride of ownership, something he'd never felt before.

Which was not unlike how he had felt hours earlier when Gary had called to say that their star attendee, the centerpiece of the whole convention, Winston Pettigrew, was at the gate - hours earlier than expected. "What am I going to do?" he asked Gloria, his co-chair.

"Put him in the Green Room," she answered.

"Green Room? We don't have a green room, The whole house is all decorated in wood and earth tones."

"No. The waiting room for panelists. It doesn't have to be green. Just quiet, with snacks and no booze. I hear that putting booze in the Green Room is a recipe for disaster, though I'm not sure why."

"A Waiting Room! Of course! Snacks! No Booze. Got'cha." Dean looked around. "Oh. My God, I've lost Mr. Pettigrew. I can't see him anywhere!"

"He's in the limo?" She said ending the statement as a question. "You're supposed to go out and met the limo? You might want to do that?" Gloria liked Dean for many reasons, mostly because he was always polite, respected her as a woman and shared her interest in Gant Boy Detective. That he was sometimes a bit spastic was something she took in stride.

"It's such a honor to meet you, sir," Dean said as he directed the limo driver to the parking lot across from the convention site, otherwise known as workroom no. 3. "We weren't expecting you quite so early."

"Apparently neither was the guard at the gate, a rather surly fellow."

"That's just Gary. he's OK when you get to know him."

Winston Pettigrew got out of the limo and brushed down his suit. The banner over a set of double doors told him where the convention was to be but he had never seen one held in what looked like an industrial park. Still it had been a while since anyone had invited him to a Giant Boy Detective convention so ...any port in a storm as the saying goes.

Dean lead him through the doors into a large room that was still being organized for the convention. That much was very much the same. It brought back old memories of other conventions.

"We were still in the middle of set up," Dean was saying as he lead Pettigrew around and introduced him to a trio of pretty little girls. The rest of the convention committee, the con-com as it were.

"I suppose that it my fault. I took a red-eye express out here; got in an hour ago. After taking my bags to the hotel you so kindly provided I debated sitting there the couple hours until the convention started or just going early. I feared that if I laid down for even a short nap I'd wake up all groggy. Better to just come on out here and stay bright and alert."

Dean Venture was a lot younger than he had expected. Most of the conventions he had been invited to had been run by middle-aged men, early fans of his stories. They were all experienced businessmen and conference organizers. Everything had been taken care of in advance and without any hint of confusion. He wasn't a sure how well Dean would be able to conduct this conference on a professional level. And the girls... Such children! Still his fans had always been the young. He liked surrounding himself with the youths of the day. He liked basking in their adulation. Of course he wished his fans trended more to the male variety. He believed he wrote a very masculine sort of book. It puzzled him that so many of his fans were *sigh* young girls.

"I have an idea," Dean was saying. "We don't actually have a green room, but you could stay in our living room until the convention starts." He guided Pettigrew over to the corner where a blond boy was unpacking a variety of candies on a table next to a coffee maker and an couple of ice chests. Sodas for the youngsters. "This is my brother, Hank. He insisted on having the food court concession at the convention. How do you like your coffee," Dean asked. He opened a clear plastic cover to a tray of doughnuts and placed three of them on a paper plate.

""With rather a lot of cream. It's a mixture I was introduced to in Tibet and have come to love."

:"You've been to Tibet? Cool. Do you know Joshi Sikh there? Lives in a little village about three hours by donkey from Nepal."

"It's a big country. I'm afraid I don't know the particular fellow."

"That's OK, He's probably gone back to the Yeti country. They're blood brothers, you know."

Pettigrew looked to see if his host was putting hm on but Dean seemed entirely innocent of guile. Yetis, a whole country of abominable snowmen! Ridiculous. But how did he ever miss the idea of the plot of one of his books?

Dean lead Pettigrew to the back of the room and through a small door into a corridor that, after a couple jogs ended into a room that looked like somebody's idea of a 60s Playboy pad. The smell of testosterone was enough to make him swoon. Dean lead him to a large, low couch and put the doughnuts on the end table beside the couch. "You can rest here if you want. Here's the remote to the TV and the bathroom's up stairs if you need it. I'll come back and check on you a little while, OK?" and Dean was gone before Pettigrew had time to object, not that he was going to.

Time passed pleasantly. The coffee was delicious, the doughnuts very fattening, so he nibbled to make them last longer. "The View" was just starting when his pleasant frame of mind was broken by a rude:

"Who the hell are you?"

Winston turned to see coming down the flight of stair a older, short man, hunched over, bald but with a little goatee that tried to pretend it was all the hair he needed. He looked so obviously like an older version of Dean that Pettigrew knew without a doubt that this was Dean's father.

"Good morning, Mr. Venture. I am Winston Pettigrew, esquire. Your son, Dean, said I would rest here until the convention started." He held out his hand in greetings.

"Dean, huh," the other grumbled. "What's he up to now?" Without waiting for an answer he walked through an open doorway into another room. "Oh, and it's Dr. Venture. As in Venture Enterprises. As in: 'Tomorrow's Secrets Delivered Today!'" he added in passing.

Pettigrew was for a moment perplexed because people mostly did not ignore him. Then the older man stuck his head out of the other room and asked, "Convention?"

"Why, yes, the first annual convention for the Giant Boy Detective series. I" - he laid his hand dramatically on his chest - "am the author of the series." Pettigrew waited for normalcy to reassert itself and for the little man to come back and shake his hand.

"You mean that crap Dean is always reading?" the man said instead.

A philistine, obviously but Pettigrew had an answer for that. "Really, sir, I have over 25 million copies of 'that crap' as you call it in print." Everybody was impressed by success.

"Really?" The old man, well maybe middle-aged but the bad posture and pasty-grey flesh on his face made him look a lot older than he must be. Winston Pettigrew always took care to present a healthy and well-tanned face on the world. You don't get as old as this and look as good as this, he often thought, without making an effort to take care of one's self.

The man's face had instantly became calculating and avarice. A gambler he would never be. His face was an open book for anyone to read. "And Dean is holding some kind of a convention here about it? Why wasn't I told about it? Where's my cut of this gravy train?"

He came hustling out of the other room now. "Where's this convention at?" Dr. Venture demanded.

"We came through those doors," Pettigrew pointed, "That's all I know."

Dr. Venture grumbled something under his breath that Winston Pettigrew didn't catch. "I'm sorry, sir, what did you say?"

The little man stopped at the door, "I said, 'did you have your own TV show?' I was Rusty Venture, Boy Adventure. Three seasons of top-rated television. And it lasted another ten years in syndication. I doubt that you 25 million copies compares to that!" And he was through the door, slamming it behind him, leaving Winston Pettigrew, esquire, standing in complete astonishment. All he could think of was: what an incredibly rude man.

The corridor lead, of course, to Workroom No. 3. It was here Dr. Jonas Venture had held innumerable press conferences. But it had been empty for so long (Rusty not having a lot of discoveries he wanted to share with the world) that it was a shock to see the room filled with tables, chairs, red velvet lines and people lots of people. Dr. Venture hadn't seen to many people on the grounds in a long time. And if this was a conference of some sort then they had to have paid money to get in. Even his nitwit son wasn't so dumb as to let people attend without paying something. And since this was being held on Venture grounds and using Venture buildings and supplies - why then some of that money rightfully belonged to him. "Holding out on your old man," he grumbled, "We'll see about that!"

He spotted Dean sitting at a table near the outside doors, with a couple girls. Rusty recognized a registration table even without the overhead sign that read "registration."

"What the idea of holding this - this thing - without my permission? You may be eighteen, Dean Venture, but this is _my_ home not yours. You want to hold a party for your friends, you got to ask me first!" He began with the bluster, demands for money would come later after he had cowed Dean a bit.

"If we had asked you you would have just said 'no,' because you always do," Dean whined. "You tell Hank and me we've got to go out and make something of our selves but then you never let us. This was my convention, I organized it, I advertized it, promoted it, and got all the guests of honor to agree to come. Isn't that something, Pop? Isn't it?" Dean had a guilty flash that he was going to have to explain to Gloria and her friends later why he hadn't mentioned their very large contribution. When arguing with his father nuance was never an advantage.

"Do you have any idea how much electricity this place uses when you turn on the lights? Or the air handling system? It's costing me a fortune!" Dr. Venture said, not wanting to get into the other question.

"I'm sure if Dr, Venture can present us with an itemized bill for expenses we can come to a reasonable settlement."

Dr. Venture turned to glare at the girl who said this. She was a little blonde, actual butter-gold hair, maybe 15 or 16. She was sitting in front of the cash box with what looked, from Dr. Venture's perspective, like a proprietary stance.

"Who's this? One of your trollops?" He asked.

"Pop! You apologize to Gloria this instant!" Dean had shot out of his chair in an instant and held his hands clenched at his side. Dr. Venture was unused to seeing his son talk back to him or glare at him, or hold his hands in fists as if he were about to throw himself at his father. Where the hell was Gary? he wondered what good is a bodyguard if he isn't around to guard my body?

"Trainee, Dean. I said 'Trainee' - not that other thing." He backpedaled. And there was Gary, wandering around a series of tables, the dealer''s room though just what do you call a place divided off by velvet rope and nothing else?

Dr. Venture could see that this was going nowhere. He had lost control of the conversation. Time to beat a strategic retreat. "You haven't heard the last of this, mister," he warned. I'll have the estimates on the expenses later tonight and you'd better have your books up to date as well!"

He turned away with a smile, knowing that when it came to cooking the books no one was better than ol' Rusty Venture. By the time he got done expensing the Workroom Dean will be in debt to him for the next decade!

And as he was turning around Dr. Venture noticed Hank's HankCo food stand in the corner. If Hank was running true to form he was selling off anything he could swipe from the kitchen and keeping all the profits. Time to get his share of those profits as well. He was half way to Hank's counter when he noticed something much more interesting, much more exciting. Something reeking of L'amore...

Dr. Girlfriend took a cup of coffee and a couple doughnuts from the HankCo stand, paying the rather exorbitant price for them. "And I thought I was the crook," she muttered to Hank as she accepted her change. He didn't argue with her but had the decency to blush. She wondered who the burly guy who was working beside Hark was. He looked oddly familiar with his blond hair and big chin. A long lost brother she wondered, then had to laugh at the idea. Where would Rusty Venture have found a girl willing to have sex with him?

There were several cafeteria style table and chairs surrounding Hank's stand. Most were filled with men in their thirties. Fathers patiently waiting for their son or daughter to be finished with the convention so they could go home. If she sat among them they would soon by circled around her table shamelessly flirting, even the ones in very committed relationships. It wasn't anything she did or wanted. It was just the price the world demanded from any reasonable good looking woman. Being left alone was not an option.

In the corner, though, was an old couch that probably had been in there since the days when the workroom had been in actual use. It was massively built so no one had bothered to remove it. Dr. Girlfriend sat down at one end, balancing her coffee cop on the couch's large, flat arm while taking a dainty bit out of the doughnut. Still fresh! Hank was actually selling a quality product. The coffee, too, was excellent. She looked at her watch to see how much longer before the author's talk and book signing. There's already been a couple nice panels on the series. She quite enjoyed the one discussing the secret timeline of Giant Boy Detective stories and how they tied into real world mysteries. The speaker was not only very imaginative but extraordinarily knowledge about history. She was taking a break from current panel, about collecting GBD since collecting was out of the questions with The Monarch attitude about the stories.

The corner of the room where the couch had been pushed was quiet. The echoes from the many laughing and chattering fans were muted here. Relaxing. She hadn't realized how out of place she'd feel here, surrounded by children half her age, or even a third her age. As a fan she was glad to see that so many kids were still reading the series that had meant so much to her when she had been that age. She was a little surprised that there were so many girls here. She had always thought Giant Boy Detective was a boy adventurer series and she enjoyed it only because she had been such a tomboy. Was the world full of tomboys today. Or was the series more girly then she had thought?

She picked the doughnut for another bite when she felt someone sit down at the other end of the couch. "Well, well, well." A too familiar voice began. "If it is isn't Dr. Mrs The Monarch. Or should I say 'Charlene.'"

"Nothing happened" she automatically replied.

Dr. Venture slid off the arm of the couch and down next to her. "You keep saying that, but who exactly are you trying to persuade: you or me?"

'Why can't you believe me when I tell you nothing happened?" she asked.

"Maybe because I think you doth protest too much." Dr. Venture leaned closer and smiled up at her smugly. "I think you're just using this excuse for a convention to get a little more of the ol' Rusty."

"Nothing happened!"

"Why don't we leave this gaggle of giggling teeny-bobbers and go some place private for a little more of that 'nothing happened."

"Doctor Venture..."

"Call me Rusty."

"I'd rather maintain a professional relationship here." she snapped. "I'm here, in mufti, mind you, because I happen to be a fan of Giant Boy Detective. The author of the series is to talk today and sign books. I happen to have my very own first edition of Giant Boy Detective Number One, which I intend to have signed." She reached into her Venture-Con tote-bag and brought out a very old and somewhat tattered hard cover. The cover showed the traditional image of the eight foot tall baby-faced detective and his much smaller companions as they creeped into a dark cave. "I didn't come here looking for you. I had rather hoped I wouldn't see you. because I knew you would go through all this." She took a casual sip of coffee to emphasis her apparent nonchalance.

"You know, it's hard to believe that nothing happened because when I picked you up at that bar you seemed all over me in a way that could hardly be faked."

"You didn't pick me up, I picked you up. It was all part of a ploy to get you injected with that horrible butterfly serum of the Monarch's."

"But those kisses seemed real enough."

"I'm a very good actress." Sheila looked at her watch again. It was still a half hour to the talk. She couldn't dodge Venture that way.

"I don't think that was acting."

"I keep telling you, nothing happened. Why won't you listen to me."

"Maybe it's because all I can remember is being injected with that serum and waking up the next morning naked in bed with you sleeping next to me - also naked!" Dr. Venture cast her a wicked grin. "If nothing happened how did I lose all my clothes? And if all you were doing was trying to inject me with that serum, why did you wait until morning to summon the Cocoon and make your escape?"

"It was dark. I couldn't find all my clothes. I - I didn't want to leave anything behind that you might put into your trophy case."

"I don't have a trophy case. That was my father's thing," Dr. Venture said bitterly. "But the last I recall you were still dressed. So how did your clothes get on the floor when I was already passed out? Hmmm?"

"Ok, Ok, Maybe a little something did happen but you can never tell the Monarch. Promise me you'll never tell the Monarch."

"I don't have casual conversations with The Monarch like I do with you. Your fruitball husband - no offence intended - is out to kill me."

"You can't tell anyone else about this either, because it might get back to Malcolm and things would get unpleasant all around."

"Kick you out of the Cocoon - again?" Dr. Venture teased cruelly.

"He'd come after you with a fury you have never seen before."

"Oh, Please. The Monarch has always come after me like that. He has only one setting - all out craziness." He looked at her with gooey eyes. "So what did happen between us?"

Dr. Girlfriend sighed. She was a sucker for puppy-dog eyes and Dr. Venture could be so cute when he used them. "The shock of the serum knocked you out as expected. I waited for a minute to make sure everything was proceeding as normal before calling the Cocoon for pick-up. Then all of a sudden you sit you and called me a 'naughty girl' before jumping over the bed and throwing yourself at me like a mad man. I'd never seen a man so aroused. You had me in a corner and was tearing at my clothes before I knew what was happening." She stopped, realizing that she was about to say something she had never admitted to anyone before, not even her self. The truth was she kind of liked crazy sex.

It was what had drawn her to Phantom Limb, the man who introduced her to the Guild of Calamitous Intent and the world of Super-villainy. There was something electric, infinitely exciting about dating - sleeping - with a super-villain. After discovering that her old college professor was a professional criminal with super powers (His arms and legs were invisible but could conduct a killing jolt of electricity) The other boys in her life seemed bland and uninteresting.

But sensations pall after a time and she had grown to realize that Phantom Limb was more of a paper-pusher then a criminal. He wanted to control the Guild and the other super villains involved. He spent more time as a salesman then as a rogue killing machine. So she had gone off on her own, creating the persona of Lady Au Pair, and finding her adorable, murderous moppets. It was exciting times but being an Arch had not been for her. They had done a couple of pretty good capers. Had created a reputation that a Lady Au Pair plot would be clever, tricky and successful. Then had run dry of ideas. She just didn't have the imagination, the spark, the fire, to find a nemesis and really go to town on him.

So she gave up the Lady Au Pair thing and became the second in command for Truckulese. That was when she first called herself Doctor Girlfriend. But Truckulese, a man with a fetish about implanting truck parts into his body wasn't all that much in bed and his plots to hijack valuable truck cargo was more minor league than she's cared to admit.

So she had drifted around for a couple years looking for someone who needed a clever, organizational person to put their plans over the top. And all the while Phantom Limb had been trying to get her to come back. Eventually, having left one more weak-kneed super-villain she had realized that there simply wasn't anyone else around who could fill the void she had in her life. And Phantom Limb at least seemed to fill it a little better than anyone else.

This time he had a new identity for her, Queen Etheria, complete with a new costume, which was pretty hot and unforgettable as long as you didn't try to bend over, walk, run or fight in it. Queen Etheria's costume was a very short clear plastic rain coat with white bars painted on the plastic over her breasts and groin. About all it was good for was standing around in or sitting down. She looked good in it, but then she looked good in anything she wore. It was just more of a thing one wore in the bedroom for the brief seconds it takes for a lover to rip it off.

So for a time she was content. Then she noticed that one of the henchmen was eyeing her all the time when he thought no one was looking. Certainly Phantom Limb never caught on. She didn't encourage Shadowman #9, at least she didn't think she had. Then one night he had shown up at one of Phantom Limb's Guild parties wearing a home-made butterfly costume. He had the craziest eyes she had ever seen and made no effort to disguise the fact the he wanted her badly. The thought of having an affair while living with another man was just too wicked for her to resist. Five minutes later he had her in his old, used car carrying her off to paradise. Fifteen minutes later Phantom Limb had tracked them down, sent her to her room. While arguing with her Phantom Limb had unwittingly let the Monarch peel away.

Phantom Limb's shouting at her had reminded her all to much of her father, who had constantly called a slut, a whore and a wicked, ungrateful child. Within the week she had moved in with the Monarch and was organizing his bachelor pad into a proper lair.

"It doesn't matter what happened that night," she told Dr. Venture, "I love the Monarch and always will, because he is so constantly aroused, so passionate, so... "

"I'm not especially interested in his love life, just ours." Venture reminded her as she got momentarily lost in recollections of the Monarch's hot monkey love.

Sheila decided to sip a bit of her coffee to give her time to think of what to say. "The thing is," she finally began, "Is that for all his - attention, I - uh - sometimes - I like a little bit on the side. And when you came after me with that trouser snake in your pants I - I guess I got turned on a little. "Besides", she said with more confidence, "I didn't want you tearing off all the buttons on my dress. It was a very nice dress."

"So we did do it!" the Doctor exulted.

"Please, keep it down."

"We're surrounded by kids! None of them care what a couple of old codgers like ourselves as saying." Rusty has scooted up close to her and slipped an arm around her neck. She knew several ways of breaking an arm in such a position and had done in on more than one occasion to aggressive suitors back before the Monarch, before the Guild and all the craziness began.

"So how was I? Did the ol' Rustinator make your clocks chime?"

"You were OK."

"OK! Just OK. I thought you said I was coming on like an animal and that was just OK?"

"You acted like you never had sex before. I kind of had to coach you through it. It kills the mood a little."

Dr. Venture removed his arm from around her should and crossed it with his other one to pout. "My dad could have any woman in the world, and apparently did at one time or another. While I've had sex exactly three times in 44 years. It just isn't fair."

"You've only been with three women?" Sheila asked

"No, I've only had _sex_ three times. And yes, with three different women. But only once each. By the way, why aren't you pregnant?"

"What?" Dr. Girlfriend was astonished and more than a little revulsed by the comment.

"Look. I had sex with my then bodyguard, Myna, once! And she had the boys. Then she went crazy and had to be locked up. The other time I had sex was with some underaged girl who was the president of the Rusty Venture fan club. She said she was eighteen but really she was only fourteen. One night of pleasure and she's knocked up! I've had to pay for that mistake ever since. My dad had so much sex you'd think the world would be littered with bastard Ventures but I'm it. I don't even know who my mother is. Dad buried that information so I couldn't find out. And when he buried stuff it tends to stay buried.

"There's your brother, Jonas, Jr. " Dr. Girlfriend reminded him.

"He was some kind of parasite inside my body for 43 years. It doesn't count. My dad had sex with everybody and never got anyone pregnant. I have sex twice in my life and the girl gets pregnant each time. Which is why I wonder how you didn't get pregnant, if we really did it?"

"You wore a condom."

"The only condom I recall finding was about twenty years old and falling apart."

"I always carry a supply in case of emergency."

"You were planning to have sex with me all along? Mee-ow!"

"I wasn't planning to have sex with you," Dr. Girlfriend reminded him. "This was just a ruse to get you injected with that butterfly serum. The Monarch had been very clear in advance that I was not to have sex with you. But when you're working out scenarios of how this plan could go wrong rather obviously being forced into having sex to order to get close enough to you was a possibility so I brought along some condoms."

"Ok, OK." Dr, Venture said conciliatorily. "I was just wondered, you know, because Brock - I suppose you've slept with Brock as part of your little wanderlust thing?"

"No. Oddly enough he wasn't interested the couple times he had me prisoner and could have had his way with me." She turned away from Dr. Venture, regretting ever getting into this conversation. She didn't like talking about her personal life like this. It made her feel cheap.

"Hmpf. Probably because Brock thought you were a man. A post-op Trangie."

"You tell that Swedish murder machine that I am all woman," Dr. Girlfriend exploded. "Every part of me is 100 percent all woman! - except my boobs. I had them fluffed when I married the Monarch!

"I thought you looked a trifle more, ah, buxom, in your Mrs. The Monarch costume. Which, mind you, I greatly admire, when I'm not running for my life away from you."

"You like it? You don't think it's too vulgar. I thought the color scheme really worked out nicely." She forgot for the moment being angry at Dr. Venture, more interested in whether he thought her costume worked. Super-villains spend a lot of time getting their costumes just right, and woman super-villains ever more so. But one rarely got any feedback on their appearance.

"Oh, it's really nice. Very attractive, very flattering. I'm surprised the Monarch lets you out of the Cocoon in it."

"Well, he was a little jealous at first. And I can't believe that Brock Samson thinks I'm a man!"

"Maybe it was your voice."

"I've got nodules on my larynxes. You'd be surprised how many woman have deep voices. I can't believe that stuck up pig, How could he think a thing like that about me. What do I have to do to convince him that I'm all woman."

"gynecological exam."

"Arrgh! You people are such pigs!" She got up and stormed away, or rather stormed towards the part of the room fenced off for the panels and speeches. Dr. Venture sat behind wondering what it was he'd said that had offended her so. She had asked a reasonable question and he'd given her a very logical answer. That was no reason to call someone a pig.

On the whole, though, Rusty thought this had been a very productive day. Learning that sometime had happened that night with 'Charlene'. The third time he'd ever had sex in his life. Who knows, maybe he'll have sex a fourth time before he hit fifty!

Then, because he couldn't let the boy get away with holding this convention without his approval, he went over to Hank's refreshment bar and harassed him about a share of the profits since it was in one of his buildings and the coffee, pop and doughnuts had been ordered on his credit card.


	3. Chapter 3

"What do you mean, you can't find our guest of honor?"

Blonde haired Gloria was sitting at the Registration table for VentureCon 1 as Dean leaned over and whispered his news in her ear. Her eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed in anger. "I can't believe you lost our Guest of honor." Gloria nearly shouted, paused to look around. Nobody seemed to noticed her outburst.

"I haven't lose him," Dean objected. "He's just not where he's supposed to be."

"Did you look for him?"

"Yes," Dean insisted.

"Did you look in the bathroom?" Another voice from down the table asked. Tiffany had looked up from her laptop where she was updating membership data.

"Yes, I looked in the bathroom," Dean said, annoyed that someone would think he hadn't thought to look there.

"Do you know what this means?" Gloria continued, now in a whisper.

"I'm sure he'll turn up."

"Did you look in the kitchen? Maybe he got hungry..." Tiffany interrupted. They both turned to glare at her.

She looked back at them then turned back to her computer. As she typed in another registration card she muttered, "I was just trying to help."

"Dean," Gloria hissed, "Mr. Pettigrew is scheduled to give his first talk in half an hour. Do you know what will happen if he isn't there?" She paused but before Dean could begin an answer she continued. "We'll be ruined Dean. All of us. Because if we can't produce Mr. Pettigrew every last man woman and child at this convention is going to demand their money back, every last bit of it, including the money we already spent putting this convention on. Dean, I'm too young to declare bankruptcy!"

"Actually since Dean was the only one of us old enough to sign contracts he'll be the only one they'll go after." Tiffany's father was a lawyer so little bits of legalism rubbed off on her.

"You're not helping!" Gloria barked at her. "And you're not helping, either," she rounded on Dean. "Keep looking for him. And get that big scary guy you say is your bodyguard to stop frightening people ad help, too!"

"Gary? He's not frightening."

"Just go."

Dean found Gary wandering around in the "Hucksters" area. He wasn't sure why it was called that but Gloria, Tiffany and Heather all agreed that that was what the dealer's area was supposed to be called.

Gary was holding a stapled magazine in his hand. A garish and ineptly drawn cover declares it was "Giant Boy Detective and the Ring of Doom." Dean was talking to a man behind the table, "Arcs? They're fighting Arcs instead of Orcs? And Souron? I really like the idea of a Giant Boy - Lord of the Rings crossover but these name changes to avoid copyright infringement are so cheesy..."

Dean tugged on Gary's light blue jumpsuit and whispered in his ear.

"You lost your guest of honor," Gary exclaimed.

"Shhh! We don't want people to know."

"They'll know soon enough," Gary said. Then with a sigh he asked, "Where did you look?"

"When I couldn't find him in the living room I looked in the kitchen, then upstairs to check the bathroom, and the bedrooms. I checked the downstairs rooms as well as some of the rooms connecting off the living quarters. Honestly, Gary, I've looked everywhere."

"Did you asked your dad if he saw him? Maybe he ran him off."

"Pop was sitting right where Mr. Pettigrew had been sitting, watching TV. He didn't say anything about seeing Mr. Pettigrew."

"Have you looked around the convention, maybe Pettigrew got bored and decided to mingle with his fans?"

"I looked, I couldn't see him anywhere."

"Well, go back and look everywhere again. Maybe Pettigrew was wandering while you were looking and just stayed a room ahead of you. I'll take a look around outside."

"We've got to find him in the next half hour or we're cooked," Dean said.

"Whatever," Gary said, dropped the magazine back on the table and left.

Gary walked out the main entrance and across the service drive to the parking lot and circled it. Pettigrew wasn't in any of the cars. Gary had had half a thought that the man might have returned to the Bentley either to pick up something he'd forgotten or because it represented a familiar quiet spot away from Dr. Venture. But neither seemed to be the case.

He glanced up and swept the length of the buildings. There was a clot of people about fifty feet from the main entrance. He kicked himself for not noticing them sooner. He tried to live each day by the motto "what would Brock Samson do" and Brock, he was pretty sure, would have noticed those people was soon as he'd left the building.

They were, he suspected, out there smoking, but they were all grouped around someone in the middle that Gary couldn't see. Someone who possible could be the missing Pettigrew. He hurried over to the group but as he neared he recognized the brown dress the person in the middle was wearing. Dr. Mrs. The Monarch!

The sight of the woman who had laughed at his confession of love always formed a knot in the pit of his stomach. Even though it had been months before and even though she had explained that she had laughed only to protect him from her husband's wrath, and even though Gary had had a girlfriend since, he couldn't bring himself to forgive her. It was petty and childish but then so were so many other things that drive human affairs.

Still, he was on a mission so he walked up to them. "Excuse me, gentlemen, Lady, but have you seen a short, heavy set man in his late seventies wandering around. He has a small goatee."

"You lost the Guest of Honor!" Dr. Mrs the Monarch blurted out. The others seem to have no idea of whom Gary was looking for. As they were all men on their forties or even fifties, and not all of them were smoking, Gary guessed that these men were all trying to hit on the one adult woman at the convention.

"Not me, Dean."

"Dean!" she echoed. ""He'd lose his head if it weren't attached. Have you looked every where?"

"Yes!" Gary answered with exasperation. "I've got Dean looking through the residence again while I'm doing a reccon of the outside."

"I suppose he'll have to turn up somewhere. This place is surrounded in chain-link fence. He couldn't have gone far." she said.

She took the cigarette out of her mouth and looked at it, decided it was smoked as far as it was going to, dropped it into the pile at her feet and rubbed it would with her shoe. She fished out another cigarette from her purse and had three different lights pushed towards her. She took the nearest one and smiled at the man holding it. Gary could see the man actually straighten up a bit taller under her glance. It reminded him all over again why he hated her.

So as he was turning away to continue looking for Winston Pettigrew he casually mentioned, "She's married, you know. Husband's the real jealous type. Ex-Con." The latter was true. The Monarch had been sent to prison, was technically an escaped convict.

Gary walked a hundred yards done the line of buildings before pausing to look around. He noticed with grim satisfaction that the covey of lecherous fathers had disappeared. Dr. Girlfriend was smoking by herself. He saw her throw the last cigarette on the ground and stomp on it before walking back to the entrance of the convention. Gary smiled and continued looking for the missing man.

But Pettigrew was nowhere to be found outdoors. Gary went back inside, took a walk around the convention room looking for Pettigrew there and when he didn't find him, took the small door that lead to the Venture Residence.

He found Dean in some kind of den below the main level of the residence. Large windows looked out into the depths of a swimming pool. Dean had sunk into one of the low couches there and rested his chin on his hands. He looked up when he heard Gary enter and sighed. "I've looked everywhere, twice! And I still can't find him."

"Did you ask your father?"

"Yeah. He just laughed that I'd lost our guest of honor."

"He's not outside either, but I didn't think he was." Gary thought for a moment. "I think it's time we called on Dr. Orpheus."

Dean paled. "You think Mr. Pettigrew is dead?" he asked.

Dr. Orpheus was a necromancer. Dr. Venture had rented out a wing of the building to him because he needed the cash. Resurrecting the dead was one of the things he did.

"No. It's wouldn't help you any if he were. Can't have zombies giving speeches now can we? No, I just figured that since we've looked everywhere else then, possibly Pettigrew wandered into there. It's the only place we having looked yet."

Gary lead the way up the stairs and through the connecting corridors to Dr. Orpheus's apartment. As they neared the door it swung upon of its own accord while a tremulous voice declared "Welcome to the home of Dr. Byron Orpheus."

They walked through the door which promptly closed behind them. Gary looked over his shoulder just to make sure Dr. Orpheus wasn't standing there behind them playing a practical joke. No one was there.

"Come. This way," the invisible voice directed.

Gary had never been inside Dr. Orpheus's apartment before. The unseen speaker lead them into a large library where the necromancer was intently studying a large and ancient looking book. After a moment. He jotted down a note, placed the note on the open page before closing the book with a loud thud.

"What do I owe this unexpected visit."

"We're looking for a guy, short, heavy-set, elderly with a goatee." Gary explained.

"And you thought I might be entertaining him?" Dr. Orpheus asked with a theatrical flourish. He tended to declaim instead of simply speaking. As if every word was of monumental importance.

"We've looked every where else."

"I am a Necromancer, a speaker to the dead! I wield powers beyond your mortal comprehension, I am not some garden-variety finder of lost keys and guests of honor."

"You've heard about the convention?" Gary asked in surprise.

"Triana mentioned it in one of her 'E-mails'."

Gary turned on Dean, "You told Tirana but you didn't think to tell me?"

"We were afraid that if we mentioned the convention you'd feel honor-bound to tell Pop and he'd tell us we couldn't do it." Dean said.

Gary rolled his eyes but said to Dr. Orpheus, "Anyway we've looked everywhere else so I thought maybe he had dropped in on you."

"I have not been bothered by any unexpected guests before your arrive."

"You're sure about that?" Gary insisted.

"Of course I'm sure. My door would not open to anyone without first informing me."

"You look like you were really busy just now. Maybe he slipped in and you didn't notice it?" Dean suggested. That earned an annoyed glance from the magician. "Oh, very well. One moment while I scan the apartment for other visitors."

He closed his eyes and pressed the tips of his fingers to his forehead. He sat still for a moment then his eyes popped out with a look of alarm. "The closet door is open," he said, then disappeared in a cloud of sulfurous smoke.

"What was that all about?" Gary asked Dean. He was more than a little unsettled that a man could just disappear like that. And what was so urgent about a closet door?

"That would be Triana's closet," Dean said matter of factly. "It's apparently a portal into the Underworld." He lead the way out of the library, up some stair and down a hall to an open door. Inside was a girl's bedroom. Posters of punk rockers were on the wall. A frilly four-poster bed dominated one corner of the room. Hair spray and make-up was piled on dresser tops. And a closet door stood open.

Gary looked inside and was disappointed to find that it open into a small room, six feet deep and four feet wide. A rod ran down the length on one side. A couple dresses were hung on it, dark gothic numbers, like Triana Orpheus tended to wear.

There was no gateway to anywhere else.

"You sure about this being a portal to another dimension?" he asked Dean. "Looks like an ordinary closet to me."

"Triana told me you can't see it unless you're a magic user."

"Really."

"Yes. It used to scare her all the time because she could see the portal but her father never explained what was going on; that she could do magic, you know. Guess he didn't want her to become a magician like him."

Gary felt an itch on his neck and turned his head to scratch it. As soon as he took his eyes off the closet Dr. Orpheus walked out carrying Winston Pettigrew in his arms. "I have rescued your guest from the unseen horrors of the Underworld," he announced as he dropped the unconscious man on Triana's bed.

Pettigrew was waving his arms aimlessly and moaning words that seemed half gibberish.

"What's wrong with him?" Dean asked, concerned.

"He has seen things which mortal man was never meant to see!" Dr. Orpheus declaimed. "His very sanity is at risk!" And without another word he placed his hand over Pettigrew's head and commanded "Sleep! Sleep!"

Pettigrew's eyes rolled up till only the whites showed. His head flopped to one side and he began to snore softly.

"That's one way to cure insomnia," Gary said, somewhat creeped out by the magician's power.

"How long is he going to sleep?" Dean asked. "He's scheduled to give a talk in" - he consulted his two-way wrist communicator - "fifteen minutes."

"Mr Pettigrew will sleep for half an hour." Dr. Orpheus told him.

"Is there any way to wake him up sooner."

"Do not try to wake him up!" Dr. Orpheus thundered. "The sleep is erasing the memories of the horrors of the Underworld from his mind. If you wake him too soon he will remember some of his journey there - with disastrous results!"

"But...fifteen minutes..." Dean sputtered

"This is a convention," Gary assured him, "Nothing runs on time. Just tell Gloria you've got to stall for fifteen or twenty minutes. I'm sure she can figure something out. And at least we have him now, so things can't get any worse." With a worried look at the unconscious author. Dean went to talk to his co-chair.

"How easy is it to wake him up?" Gary asked Dr. Orpheus. "I'd like to move him down to the Venture's living room, but I don't want to do it if it'll break your spell or whatever."

"Oh. he should be alright as long as you don't go banging his head on the doorjambs." the magician assured him.

Gary hefted the man's body and gingerly make his way through the doorway and out Orpheus's apartment, along some connecting corridors and into the Venture Residence. He found Dr. Venture sitting on one end of the couch but Winston Pettigrew was short enough that Gary had room to lay him out on the rest of the couch.

"So you found your missing author, eh?" Dr. Venture said, flipping aimlessly through te channels on his TV. "Where was he?"

"Wandered into Tirana's closet."

"Usually those type of people are coming out of closets," Dr Venture said unkindly.

"What do you mean by that?" Gary said, angrily. He knew exactly what Dr. Venture meant. Dr, Venture had a habit of saying mean, baldly cruel, and usually bigoted things about people, and when called on it would defend himself by saying he was just telling the truth. Every time he did that Gary lost a little more respect for the scientist.

Gary arranged the short man on the couch so he'd sleep more comfortable. He glanced at Dr. Venture. "You think he's gay, is that it?"

"I only met him the one time this morning but it seemed pretty obvious. The man's flaming!"

"'Flaming'? You think he's 'flaming'?" Gary scoffed, "What about Shore Leave. Now there's 'flaming'. The guy's a one-man 24/7 Gay pride parade, but you know what. He's also one of the best agents the OSI has. He's the only agent they've got that's professional enough to work with Brock Sampson. And you know how Brock hates working with partners! The only thing flaming around here is your red neck. So just put a cork in it!"

"How dare you talk to me like that!" Dr. Venture returned. "I'll have you fired!"

"I don't actually work for you, the OSI actually pays my salary."

Dr. Venture seethed for a minute before getting up "I'd better see what Dean's up to. He should have some idea how much profit this little shindig of his is making by now. From the number of people there it looks like he's raked in a lot. That's my money. Venture property and all." Dr. Venture got up to leave. Gary assumed he didn't like losing arguments. As the scientist was heading for the corridor out to Workroom No. 3 a thought crossed Gary's mind. "You know," he said, "this is probable a non-profit convention. All excess cash at the end of the day has to be plowed into some charitable organization."

"And charity begins at home."

"The IRS is going to want your tax exempt number..."

"Oh, screw the IRS," he complained and hurried through the door. With a shrug Gary settled into a chair facing the sleeping author and waited for Dr. Orpheus's spell to end.

"What do you mean, this is a non-profit convention?" Dr. Venture all but screamed at his son.

Dean always got a little sweaty when his father was yelling at him but he remembered that this was his convention and he had to stand up for it. "We had to organize as a non-profit, pop, it was cheaper on the taxes. we qualified for tax exempt status and all-in-all the regulations were a little looser."

"What about my money? This is all my money. You wouldn't be having this little get-together if it were for Venture Enterprises. And do you know who happens to be Venture Enterprises?"

"You, Pop," Dean agreed sadly.

"Yes. me!"

"But we already agreed to pay you an appropriate amount for room rental and utilities," the blonde-haired girl siting at the registration table next to Dean spoke up. "You don't get all of it. Besides we need starter funds for next year..."

"You keep out of this," Dr. Venture snapped at Gloria. "Next year? You think you're going to hold another convention here next year?"

"It's my convention," Gloria snapped back. "I'm not going to shut up about my convention!"

Dean was going to correct here that this was really his convention then realized that this wasn't the time to argue over who's convention this was. He was spared having to come up with an answer to his father when a voice pipped up behind them.

"Rusty, long time, no see," It was a quavering, older voice and spoke directly behind him. Dr. Venture turned to see who it was, then leaped back with a start. He stumbled the length of the registration table, catching a steadying hold on it just before he ran out of table.

"You!" He cried, then pulled himself up and walked back, extending a hand to the small, elderly man standing there. "Dr. Zinn! - Ah, sorry for the reaction. You caught me off guard. I had a flashback to when I was ten, remember, you snuck up on me..."

"Would that be Marakesh? I think so. We had a glorious time eluding your father. Didn't find Aladdin Cave but we did find a nice trove of Carthagian relics."

"You! You had the grand time playing hide-and-seek with my father. I was bound in a small trunk as I recall!" Dr. Venture pulled a pill box out of his pocket and quickly thumbed through the many different pills there. "Valium, Valium, Valium," he prayed. Finally he found the pill he wanted, popped it into his mouth and swallowed it dry. "So what brings you to Dean's little travesty?" he asked.

"Who's the old geezer talking to your father?" Gloria whispered to Dean.

"That's Dr. Zinn. He's retired now."

"Dr. Zinn? Why is that name familiar? Wait, wasn't there a Doctor Zinn as one of the major villains on the old Rusty Venture Show?" Gloria asked.

"That was just an actor. Dr, Zinn" - he nodded towards the old man - "was still actively trying to steal my grandfather's inventions to play himself on the show. At least that's what Pop says."

"There was a real Dr. Zinn? I thought that show was all made-up, like Superman."

"Oh, no. It was all real. Well, maybe just a little dramatized. Pop's kind of vague about the show."

"Pop? Your dad was Rusty Venture?"

"Didn't I tell you?"

"No!" Gloria's eyes bugged. "Oh, My God! You're famous!"

Dean snorted. "Hardly."

"Rusty," Dr. Zinn was saying, "I couldn't help overhearing your conversation with your son and I thought I should come over and offer a little balm on troubled waters." He dragged Dr. Venture back next to where Dean was standing behind the registration table.

"Rusty, my old friend," Dr. Zinn began, "Are you really upset with your son for having the initiative to organization and hosting this wonderful event?"

"He could have asked first," Dr. Venture reluctantly admitted. He felt like a schoolboy being lectured.

"And you would have said 'no' because you always do. I know you, Rusty. We have been enemies for so long we know each other inside and out. But what are you really angry about?" The doctor paused for Dr. Venture to answer. When he did Dr. Zinn continued, this time speaking to Dean Venture. "Your father's anger isn't because you took initiative or did things without permission, but because you didn't invite him to be a part of this inestimable gathering."

Dean gave Gloria a confused look. He wasn't sure whether 'inestimable' was a good or bad thing.

"I think the old man's saying we should have made your father a guest of the convention," she said.

"Oh!" Dean was relieved that someone understood what Dr. Zinn was saying. Then he remembered, "But Pop doesn't like Giant Boy Detective."

"And I can't believe that you do," Dr. Venture said.

"But he's Rusty, Boy Adventure! Who wouldn't want to meet the famous star of the TV show? Perhaps hear of some of his real-life adventures that didn't make it into his show."

"Marakesh,: Dr. Venture grumbled, "locked inside a trunk for a week. Not very entertaining,"

"I'm sure you have happier memories." Dr. Zinn suggested softly.

"Are you kidding? You were personally responsible for my not having happier memories from age 10 through eleven and a half."

"But you were a TV star! You saw all of Hollywood-"

"The insides of trunks, closets, steamer chests, caverns," Dr. Venture interrupted, dourly.

But Dean was beginning to see what Dr. Zinn was getting at.

"Pop, would like to be a guest speaker at our convention. And - and - next year you can be the -"

"-Co-Guest of Honor," Gloria finished.

"Co-Guest of Honor, well.." Dr. Venture straightened up from his usual slouch at the thought.

"VentureCon2 would be a combined Giant Boy Detective/ Rusty, Boy Adventure convention." Dean suggested.

"Well..."

"We can put your on at 4 o'clock today. We ere just going to have the Bitch Session then but I think a lot of people would much rather hear a few words from you." Gloria had never gone fishing in her life but she certainly knew when she had hooked a fish and was busily reeling him in.

"We'll have Heather make the announcement just before Mr. Pettigrew begins his talk."

"Then I'd better get ready, heh, heh,. put together some rough notes. Four o'clock, you say? I'll be there. And Dean, next time I'd better have more than one late panel at the convention!" He left in a rush, a smile on his face. Gary passed him in the corridor as he was bringing a recovered Mr. Pettigrew into the convention hall and wondered what could have happened to make the older Venture look so happy.

Dr. Girlfriend had walked in from her cigarette break still scowling at the dirty trick Gary had played on her. Just because she was married didn't mean she could do little harmless flirting from time to time and it was really flattering to be surrounded by so many nice men, so eager to do anything for her. And as long as the Monarch didn't know about it it wasn't going to cause anyone any trouble. Then Gary had to go and ruin it all.

She was a little surprised that the last panel was still going on. It was a quarter past the hour and Winston Pettigrew should have been up there talking about the origins of Giant Boy Detective. She shrugged. Conventions often ran late. Not that she's ever gone to many, but from things that 21 - Gary - had said, she knew this to be true.

She went over to take a seat in the Parent's Lounge. There was a cluster of wire-frame plastic bottomed chairs in the center of the room where most of the con goers congregated between panels but Dr. Mrs The Monarch preferred a cushiony sofa or couch over them. All the men waiting in the Lounge looked away from her. Apparently word of Gary's comments had spread fast. That just darkened her mood more. Unable to bear the feeling of being a pariah, she got up and left, wandering the floor of the convention somewhat aimlessly.

She saw Dr. Venture striding into the room again and quickly and quietly slipped into a corner where he was less likely to see her. The scientist was making straight for his son and not - mercifully - looking for her. But she feared that it would only be time before the sad little man would coming looking to "put his moves" on her. So it was with some pleasure that she watched Venture almost run from the convention back to his residence.

With an ashy sigh, she drifted towards the back of the programming section of the room and wondered what could be keeping Winston Pettigrew. She was not good as waiting patiently so her scowl must have deepened some more.

"Ah, Good morning, Sheila. And how are you today," She turned to see a small, elderly man approaching her. He was using a cane. His wife was on his other arm, helping. She was kind of scary looking, being somewhere in her eighties but botoxed and face-lifted until she looked a mummified fifty.

"Dr. Zinn! I didn't know you were a Giant Boy Detective fan? How's life treating you?"

"I am an old man. I happen to be alive today so I guess I shouldn't complain." He leaned over to pat her on the arm, "though of course I do. You've met my lovely wife?"

"I think we meet a couple years ago at some Guild function. It's good seeing you again."

"Thank you," Mrs Zinn said. She was foot or more taller than her husband and dressed in a miniskirt and go-go boots right out of Carnaby Street. "We don't get out much anymore but my dear husband was so set on coming here."

"I saw you talking to Dr. Venture," Dr. Mrs. The Monarch said. "What was that all about?"

"Just saying hello. I hadn't seen the boy since his Day Camp endeavor last year. I was a speaker there, which I enjoyed a lot. I realized that I could help Dean out by suggesting that he make his father a guest speaker here. Rusty seemed quite taken with the idea."

"Is that why Mr. Pettigrew late?"

"That I don't know."

"Have you been enjoying it?" Sheila asked.

"Have you? I have been having a ball. I talked with a lad - couldn't be more than eight or nine years old - about Giant Boy continuity - knew everything about the books. Such a bright and wonderful lad. I brought along my very first Giant Boy book." He held up a small, thick brown hardcovered book "Are you going to get something signed?"

She brought out of her tote a different book, a little taller and wider but much thinner with a scruffed and creased cover showing Giant Boy and his friends peering into a cave."

"Ah, the second series. Did you know there was a whole other series of Giant Boy adventures before that?"

"No."

"Than look!" he held out the brown book he'd been carrying, a flipped a couple of pages. "See: Copyright 1931 by the Overholster Syndicate." Overholster was a book packager like the Stratemeyer Syndicate that created Tom Swift, Don Sturdy and the Bobbsie Twins. And like Stratemeyer Roy Overholster would create intricate and detailed outlines for the stories then feed them to some starving newspaper journalist to write out. It's believe that Overholster wrote the first book but most of the rest have been credited to Howard R. Jarvis."

"Really?" Dr. Girlfriend said, amazed at all these history that she did not know.

"Roy Overholster died in 1951 and the syndicate was taken over by his daughter. Ethel. She continued writing the outlines for a while, then in 1962 decided that the series had gotten grossly out of date so she hired Pettigrew to re-boot the series and modernize it. Which he did and has been written it ever since."

"That's like fifty years," Dr. Girlfriend marveled. "He must be ancient!"

"Not as much as me, my dear, not as much as me.

"Excuse me, ma'am."

Dr. Girlfriend turned around to find herself being addressed by a very young, and very small girl with a mane of light brown hair. "I'm Tiffany, from the con-com. Dean asked if I'd come over and see if everything was OK with you. He said you were looking unhappy and for some reason Dean though that was - uh - not a good thing."

Dr. Girlfriend looked over to the registration table where Dean was standing behind a couple girl about Tiffany's age. He waved goofily at her but out of habit was keeping his distance from her. "I'm fine" she said. "I just had an unpleasant conversation with Dr. Venture. Dean will understand." And because she was in a good mood because of the convention, she added. "Thank you for asking. It was very kind of you. You can tell Dean that I'm on holiday today. I'm here for the convention and have no more desire for anything to go wrong than he does. If there is any one who might start trouble, it would that gentleman in the blue uniform." She looked around and found Gary huddled in conference with Dean and the other two girls on the committee. She pointed to him. "If you see him heading towards me, could you head him off somehow. He doesn't like me and might use the convention to cause trouble."

"That's Gary, our security leader," the girl said. "I can't imagine him wanting to cause you trouble. He's a pussycat."

"No, he's a pitbull. They can look friendly but never cross them."

The girl looked a little confused by that but nodded and smiled brightly, "Ok, ma'am, I'll do that."

Dr. Girlfriend kind of flinched at the use of 'ma'am.' She wasn't a 'ma'am'. She was still very much a young and vital woman. But then, she reminded herself, when you're only fourteen or whatever years old, everyone looks old.

"I'll tell Dean that you're OK. I'm sorry Dr. Venture gave you a hard time. Did you know he used to be a TV star? He's going to give a talk about it at 4!"

"Indeed," said Dr. Zinn. "His father and I were the best of enemies."

"Best of friends," Tiffany corrected.

"Oh, we were never friends." The small vaguely oriental looking man smiled. "For years I would try to steal all of his best inventions - to advance some personal goals of mine."

"World conquest, wasn't it?" Dr. Mrs the Monarch asked.

"We all have our little dreams. But I'm retired now and in the end, who wants to rule the world. People are determinedly contrary beasts."

"You're a supervillain?" Tiffany asked, with a touch a fear in her voice.

"I'm retired, as I've said, and Sheila's just here for the convention."

"You're both super-villains? No wonder Dean was worried."

"And I told you I'm on Holiday. I'm here for the convention - and nothing else. " Dr. Mrs. The Monarch told her.

"The thing is," Dr Zinn continued, "the reason I called Dr. Venture - the elder Dr. Venture - the best of enemies is that after a time one begins to realize that the only people we see are our Arches. We have no social life except for those we are trying to do an injury to. And so we begin to socialize with ours worst enemies. We come to be on a first name basis, sending cards on birthdays and anniversaries. In a way it's a sick kind of relationship." The old man smiled wanly. "It was at a Guild party that I realized that all we ever talked about was our Arches. We never talked about art or literature, or the last good play we went to. Went we got home that night I turned to my lovely here and said 'Dear, it's time to retire.' I did and I've been happier for it. What about you, Sheila?"

"I don't expect to live to get old."

"No one ever does," Dr. Zinn chuckled.

The panel was breaking up finally. People were streaming out of the curtained off area, some seeking the bathrooms, a few diving for a quick nosh at HankCo. Others just milling on the open area, hooking up with friends before Winston Pettigrew began his talk.

"It was good seeing you, Sheila. I think we should find our seats before all the good ones are taken. I wish I knew were the book signing will be so I can sit as close to that as possible. At my age I'd hate to have to fight a bunch of teenagers for a place in line."

"It was a pleasure talking to you," he told the little blonde girl. "Do assure Dean that we are - for today at least, quite harmless." With a pleasant laugh, Dr. Zinn hobbled off to the panel room.

Sheila was putting her book back in the tote, being careful not to tear the tattered dustcover any more than it was when the first rockets exploded on the workroom's roof.

"What the hell?" she cursed, then looking up to see a portion of cement ceiling material falling directly towards her. "Look out!" she shouted at the girl from the con-com and darted towards the door. Gary, she noticed, was also racing towards the exit. What kind of lunatic, she wondered, would be crazy enough to attack the Ventures in broad daylight. She was afraid she was married to him.


	4. Chapter 4

"I wonder what happened to that little girl?" Dr Girlfriend said as they slid behind the shelter of a low wall around the front of the entrance they had been racing for. Rocket propelled grenades had followed them in their mad dash from the foxhole in the front lawn but none had landed close.

"What girl?" Gary asked. He had pulled out his hand-gun and looked around for minions on the ground. There weren't any, so he put it away. It was just as well. The gun was a tranquillizer dart pistol. It didn't offer much protection.

"A little blond girl. Dean sent her over to find out if I was OK. Trinity? Teresa?

"Tiffany?"

"That's the one. Dean must have thought I'd come here to cause trouble. I told her I was on holiday today." Dr. Girlfriend chuckled. "I told her that if there was anyone who was going to make trouble today, it would be you. No offense intended."

"None taken. So what happened to her?"

"I don't know. I'd turned away to go into the author's talk when the grenades started falling. "She seemed like a nice kid. I'd hate to think of our feud with Dr. Venture falling down on her head.

The explosion had come unexpectedly, loud, ground-shaking, pelting the air with shrapnel of small concrete bits blown from the roof into the workroom below. People had froze for a moment, stunned, unsure what had happened. Only as pieces from the roof started falling to the floor did people panic, running every which way to avoid the falling debris. Most were successful. Some were not.

Dr. Girlfriend shoved the book she had been fingering back into her tote and ran for the door. She had to fight her way through crowds of people fleeing _from_ the door, which didn't bode well.

She had to run to the vast lawn in the front of the Venture Compound to see what was going on. She stopped next to the burly man already out there, little noting or caring that it was the former Henchman 21. All she saw, all she cared about was the sight of the Cocoon coming over the range of mountains to the north. Lights flared along its side and she could see with an eerie disconnect slow-moving rockets that soon turned into lightning fast rocket propelled grenades.

A shower of them exploded on the lawn throwing dirt and sod everywhere. As another wave of RPGs came hurtling their way, Dr. Girlfriend jumped into the nearest crater made by the last salvo. She was surprised by the soft landing and painful "Oof"

"Gary?" She said in surprise. Just great. She thought to herself. The Monarch is Arching on his own. He's shelling the convention she never told him she'd be at, and if he found her in a foxhole with 21 he'd blow a gasket. "Sheila, old girl, you should have 'stood in bed'."

"Right," Gary said absent-mindedly as he left the shelter of the low wall and headed towards the door. Dr. Mrs. The Monarch followed. "Down that corridor until it ends," Gary told the woman, "then take a right and follow that hall until it ends. There's an outside door there. It'll get you outside the building on the other side from here. From there you'll be on your own. The razor wire on top the fence is new. You might have to sacrifice that coat of your to get over."

"Where are you going?" she asked as Gary turned in the other direction and opened a door into one of the basements.

"Going to get something to drive away the Cocoon."

"Really? This I've got to see!" Gary didn't realize that she meant it until her shoes started click-clacking down the stairs behind him.

"I thought you were afraid the Monarch would see you fraternizing with the Ventures?"

"If you think you can bring down the Cocoon - I want to be there. I designed that thing. It's invulnerable. At least to anything Dr. Venture has ever thrown against in it the past."

Gary pushed into a small lab with a target range along one wall and several benches in the middle. The benches were piled with assorted pieces of half-finished gadgets. Gary passed them and went over to a locked cabinet and opened it with a key from his belt. He took out a device that looked like kind of like a pistol with tubes and coils and a large stock.

"What's that?" Dr. Girlfriend asked. "Or is this one of Doctor Ventures trademarked secrets?" The Guild of Calamitous Intent did not believe to trademarks when it came to weapons of major or minor mass destruction. Stealing secrets from the enemy - or from each other - was expected. But Gary seemed unconcerned.

"It's a wireless Taser." He went over to an open shelf and started filling his pockets with blocky looking devices about the size of a D cell battery. "Grab as many of those as you can," to told Dr. Girlfriend. "Take then in groups of three."

"What are they?" she asked

"Some kind of battery the old Dr. Venture invented. The way the boss tells me, his father filled a warehouse with these and since they seem to still work every thing he makes is built to use them. Come on," he motioned back to the stairs they had come down.

Dr. Girlfriend piled a half-dozen of the batteries into a pouch she made in the T-shirt she was still wearing. Then she dropped extra one into her tote bag. You never know what you might learn. She turned to follow Gary back up stairs.

He had stepped outside and opened the end of the grip and dumped out a trio of the blocky batteries and was stuffing three new ones into the slot. Dr. Girlfriend stacked the six batteries on the top of the wall next to him.

"So how do you plan to bring the Cocoon down with a - taser?" she asked.

"A _wireless_ taser," Gary corrected. "The boss had a pretty good idea. Use an infra red laser to blast a path of ionized molecules through the air, then pump 50,000 volts through the conductive, ionized path. In theory it would give the police the ability to electrically disable someone from a much longer distance than ordinary tasers which are connected by wire to the power supply on the launch platform. But there was one teeny tiny problem with the idea. Ionized air still isn't as conductive as copper. So Ok, you turn up the amps to get more current flowing down the ionized path, hoping that by the time it hits the target the actually current will have dropped below the lethal level. But it doesn't always work that way."

"Can't control for the random resistance of the air?" Dr. Girlfriend asked. She actually had a doctoral degree - in advance physics, no less. She could have made a career in Super-Science if Super-Villainy hadn't seemed more alluring.

"Exactly. So it's more of a death ray then a Taser. Can't sell it to the police and the Army is only interested in non-lethal forms of aggression these days. So here stands one of the few times Dr. Venture actually accomplished something and nobody wants it."

"I'll take it," Dr. Girlfriend volunteered.

"Like hell, you'll get this baby. You don't need a Class 5 weapon against Dr. Venture who has long been rated a Class 1 nemesis."

"A girl can dream. But even a death ray isn't going to have any effect on the Cocoon. It's too well armored."

"Yeah. But you remember why we don't fly the Cocoon into a thunderstorm?"

"Lightning interferes with the anti-gravity field."

"And in the end all this thing is is chained lightning." Gary made some adjustments on a panel on the side of the weapon. Dr. Girlfriend tried to see what he had done but couldn't make it out. Gary drew a bead on the Cocoon and pressed the trigger. Infrared light is light a octave below visible light. It's passage through the air is invisible. But the effect of its passage varies with the consistence of the air. A little moisture ...sparks burst in a line from Gary to the Cocoon.

Dr. Girlfriend found herself holding her breath waiting for, she wasn't sure what, for the Cocoon to explode or something. But all that happened was a brief flare around the surface of the Cocoon. Then it dropped ten feet. Caught itself and rose again to its previous hovering height.

"That didn't do much," she said.

"Didn't it?" Gary replied mysteriously as he opened the batter pack, dumped out the old batteries, crying in pain from the heat as they fell to the ground. He stuck another three until the holder and snapped it shut.

He squeezed off another shot, again with a few sparks leading out to the Cocoon which again dropped, this time twenty feet before recovering. He opened the battery case, dumped the used cells out without touching them this time and reloaded with the last of the cells from his pocket. He held the gun pointed at the ground for a long minute before pointing at the Cocoon again and firing. It dropped once again but instead of returning to its previous position it dropped lower and retreated a bit.

"I never said I was going to bring it down. I just wanted to discourage it a bit." He dumped out the used batteries and picked up some of the ones Dr. Girlfriend had brought. he fired as soon as he loaded. Dumped those batteries and loaded in the last set. "Think for moment. You're inside the command center, minions piloting the Cocoon to its destination when all of a sudden it drops out of the sky. Only for a second. But that one second you're in free-fall and wondering if the drive generation are going to kick in again. And then it happens again and again and again. What do you think is happening?"

"Mechanical failure," Dr, Girlfriend with a bit of awe in her voice.

Gary waited. And after a minute the Cocoon began driving backwards, away from the Venture Compound and behind a small ridge in that direction. Just before it disappeared Gary fired off his last set of batteries. The Cocoon dropped slightly but there was no sound of it crashing. "They won't move it again until they've had time to test of the drive components. And that will take hours,"

"They'll just send out ground troops, you know," Dr. Girlfriend reminded him.

"True. But it will take them at least twenty minutes to hoof it here. That should give me plenty of time to complete the evacuation of civilians. That's all I was counting on. Once we get the innocent out of the way - that's what these are for!" He clicked the button on his arm which extended the curved knives he kept strapped to his forearm. Light glistened on their polished and oiled blades.

Another click and they disappeared up his sleeve. "then it will be Old School."

"Old School," Dr. Girlfriend echoed. "What a pisser. I never got to get my book signed!"

"Can't do anything about that. I'm getting civilians out of there. You want to look for this Pettigrew guy you have to help with the evacuation." Gary insisted.

Dr. Girlfriends mouth pursed unpleasantly. She looked indecisive for a moment then stretched up to kiss Gary on the cheek. "It was nice knowing you, Gary. I don't see you coming out of this alive, though you always had a knack of surviving the worse of our raids. If there is an afterlife I'll look for you in Valhalla. She stripped off his t-shirt, then remember the razor wire atop the fence kept it in her hand as she ran through the door and down the hall.

After a moment Gary was running in the other direction, towards the chaos of Venture-Con 1.

The convention room was, to be expected, a vast confusion. Children were huddled in groups around the edges of the hall, crying, while father were milling around calling for their sons and daughters. As much as a quarter of the room ceiling had collapsed following the RPG explosions. Debris was scattered across the floor. Some bodies could be seen under the rubble. A few victims were being pulled out by the uninjured. Blood was every where. Things needed to be organized.

"Hey, Everybody!" he hollered and though his voice seemed to echo off the plain cement brick walls of the room no one stopped to listen to him. He tried hollering again to no more effect. He needed a bullhorn he decided but hadn't thought to bring one from the Guard Shack. He hadn't thiught he'd need it. But now he really needed one and there was no time to run down to the guard shack and get one. Then he wondered if the programming area Dean had rigged up included a microphone. That would work.

He loped to the far end of the room, vaulting the velvet rope that surprisingly still stood. Chairs were piled every which way as people had scrambled to get out of the room. Gary had to pick his way to the head table. And there, laying on its side, was the holy grail - a microphone. He picked it up and tapped the side. The lack of an overhead thud was discouraging. "Is this thing on?" he spoke into it but his voice didn't boom out into the room. Gary started tracing the microphone back to the amplifier, hoping to find an easy to fix break.

"I say, young man," a quavering voice called out to him. Gary looked back and saw Winston Pettigrew sticking his head out from under the dias table. "Something seems to have gone wrong with the convention and I seem to be stuck here. Can you help?"

"Can you fix a microphone?"

"Never use the things."

"Find your driver and get out of here," Gary told him.

"I'm afraid my driver is over there, under that pile of rubble."

"Try running. We've got about 20 minutes of quiet."

Pettigrew started sputtering then another head appeared from under the table. She had kinky hair pulled back into two pigtails and large frightened eyes that shone starkly against her dark skin. "Mr Gary, is that you."

"Yeah, who are you?"

"Heather Calmback, sir. On the Con-com. What's happening."

"Long story, no time. You know how to fix this?" He held up the microphone.

"Did you turn it one?" the black girl asked?

Gary cursed himself for an idiot and found the on-off button on the barrel. He slid it to On and tried again. This time his voice carried across the room.

"Everybody! I want everybody to come up here. Right now. Drop what you're doing and move. We've got a small window of opportunity to get out of here and the only way its going to work is if we get organized!"

He looked around to see if anyone was listening to him. Most of the faces were turned his way. That was good. He took a breath and continued. "I want the drivers to come up front, next to the dais and form a single line. I want all the kids who came with these drivers to line up with them. Everyone else I want to form a single line a little father back."

When no one moved he cried out, "come on people! Move! Move! Seconds count and there are no do-overs!" Like molasses the crowd started flowing his way.

While the crowd was forming Gary turned to Heather and asked, "Where's Dean?"

"I don't know," she said. "I was here to introduce Mister Pettigrew when those bombs started going off. I think Dean was at the Registration Table."

"Damn," he growled, then apologized to the girl and thanked her for the information. He wasn't used to fighting henchmen in the presence of civilians.

He pointed to the first adult to line up in front of the dais. "Are you a driver?" The man nodded. "Is your car still here?"

"Yes."

"Got all your children with you?"

"Yes."

"How much more room do you have in your car?"

The man looked confused for a moment, checked to see how many kids he had with him, "Two," he told Gary.

"OK, someone can sit on a lap. Back there. You three . The kid in the blue shirt and the two behind him. Go with this guy." Turning back to the driver, "when you get to the gate on the grounds turn left. Do not turn right . Go left and go as fast as you can for about five miles. You should be out of danger by then. Do what you want but don't come back here. Got it?"

The man nodded and herded his children towards the door.

"What about the injured out there. We can't just leave them there?" someone shouted.

"We don't have time. The window of opportunity is down to 15 minutes. Next driver? Got your kids? How many more can you take?"

"Three."

"You three. The girl with the braids, go with this guy."

"I've only got a smart car. There's only seats for my daughter and me," the next driver complained.

Gary looked at him sourly, then spotted a small boy, maybe only six in the back of the room. "Do anyone know where parents of that boy is?" he asked. When no one answered he pointed to the man with the Smartcar. He can sit on your daughter's lap. Now get him and go."

He dealt with a couple more drivers, before a loud crash caused him to looked around. From over the top of the curtains he could see someone had tipped over one of the dealer's tables and was pushing it near the door. With a shock he realized that it was Dean.

"Dean! Why aren't you in the panic room?" he called over the PA.

"I'm setting up a barricade for when the Monarch attacked."

"No, you go to the Panic Room. I'll take care of the Monarch!"

"This is my convention. It was my idea. I organized it. It was going great until the Monarch attacked. I'm not going to let VentureCon 1 go down in flames without a fire!"

While Gary had been arguing with Dean another driver had stepped up and shouted, "I've got room for five more!" Five kids peeled off the crowd and joined him running out of the room.

"I've got a minivan! Uh, maybe ten!" Another said. They left.

The next guy hesitated until Heather pointed to him. "What about you, sir," she asked in a commanding voice that she hadn't had a moment before.

"Dean," Gary was saying into the microphone, "this isn't about protecting the honor of VentureCon. This is about keeping you alive. So move! Now! And where's your brother?"

"Hanks over there putting stuff away." Dean dragged another table and tipped it on its side and pushed it in next the first.

Gary looked into the corner and sure enough Hank Venture was packing away his supply of soda pop, candy and doughnuts. "Hank Venture!" Gary announced over the PA. "Put the produce down and go to the Panic Room!"

"Not till I get my inventory put away. HankCo is not going to take a lost today." The large beefy kid Gary vaguely knew as Dermott something was helping Hank pack up. Did Brock have trouble like this getting the boy's to safety Gary wondered?

He turned back to the people in front of him and discovered that Heather was handling things surprisingly well. There were only a couple drivers left. But about fifty kids more. Could he get all of those into the Panic Room? It would be the safest place for them. But a single glance told him that there were too many. Time for Plan Z. "Everybody else, if you don't have a ride out of here I want you to run down to the front gate and over across the road into the hills on the other side. Climb over at least one set of hills and stay below the top of the ridge. Stay there for at least three hours, or until the sheriff department comes and tells you it's OK? Got it? Now, go, go, go!"

He looked at Heather, "that includes you to."

"I'm not leaving Mr. Dean when he's in trouble."

"Jesus, girl, this isn't a cartoon! Anyone left here is going to get hurt, maybe killed. Get the frick out of here!"

She looked at Gary for a moment furiously, then jumped off the dais. "Fuck you," she said quite plainly and rushed over to where Dean was piling up more tables.

"Where's the other two girls?" Gary asked as he joined Dean at the improvised barricade.

"Tiffany got hurt when the roof fell in on her. She's over there," Dean pointed to a corner where the two girls were huddled on the floor. "Gloria's looking after her."

"How bad is she?" Gary asked.

"Collarbone, maybe an arm. Not a lot of bleeding." Dean was talking while he moved more tabled into a pile. Now that they were in a crisis he seemed to running on autopilot. Working without thinking. Even the injuries to Tiffany were just a datum for him at the moment.

"Dean," he began, thinking to make one last attempt to get him into the Panic Room, but realized that Dean wasn't leaving. He had taken this attack on his convention personally and was going to see it to the bitter end, like a Captain on a sinking ship. Deal with it, Gary, he thought. What would Brock do? The movie "300" was his answer.

"Make two piles of tables reaching the walls and ending here in the center with a narrow opening so only one or two minions at a time can get through. Pile tables on top of table so they can't go over the top. And weigh down the tables with as many chairs as you can. I'm taking Tiffany to the Panic Room." Without waiting for Dean to reply, Gary crossed over to where the girls were huddled and picked up the injured blonde. She screamed as he picked her up, the jostling putting pressure on her injuries.

"Come on," He told Gloria. "We're going to get her to safety but she'll need your help. OK?"

Gary led the way through the back corridors to another workroom. A door with a glass window was mounted in the back wall. Dr. Venture could be seen staring through the (actually bullet-proof) glass.

Gary punched in the over-ride code and swung the door open. Dr. Venture stepped back as Gary and the two girls entered.

"Is he - gone?" Dr. Venture asked.

"Hardly."

"Then what are you doing bring civilians here? This isn't a charity!"

"She's hurt," he said, nodding towards Tiffany. The Panic Room was filled with every sort of bric-a-brac imaginable. Shelves lined the walls, except for one spot where mattresses spotted the floor over a series of large chutes. He laid Tiffany on the mattresses and pulled it off the pile on to the floor near by.

"There's some bottle water back there," he told Gloria, "and the First Aid kit's on the wall over there. I don't know if there's anything in it that will help her but it's there." Gary got up to leave. As he passed Dr. Venture he stopped and said, in a conversational voice. "She was hurt on Venture Enterprise property during a sanctioned Venture Enterprise activity. I'd take good care of her." And he left.

Dr. Venture pales, even more than his usual pasty complection. "The liability..." he said with a choke. Gritting his teeth and forcing his lips into the facsimile of a smile he bustle over to the two girls. "So what seemed to be the problem?" he asked. And when Gloria had finished listing Tiffany's injuries, Dr. Venture pulled out a cell phone and pressed #1 on his speed dial.

"Hey, Billy," he called into the phone when it was answered. "How are you doing. What's up. It's your old friend Rusty. You wouldn't happen to have a few spare minutes, would you."

"... Yes, it's the Monarch. ... No, he hasn't left yet. How did you know he was here? ...You were here? And you didn't drop in to say 'hello?' Giant Boy Detective. Oh, come on now, I was bigger than Giant Boy Detective ever was. ... Well, yes that was thirty years ago. ... Ok, ok, ok, I get it you're fleeing from the Monarch who is once again blowing the crap out of my buildings. What's it going to take to get you to turn that Conjectural Technology bike around and come back here. ...Oh, it's an SUV. How much car do you really need, Billy? ... Sorry, Dr. Billy. But really, I've got this little girl who was hurt during the attack..."

"The roof fell on her," Gloria interrupted.

"... the roof feel on her," Dr. Ventured echoed into the phone. "I think she broke an arm..."

"And her collarbone" Gloria reminded him.

"...and her collarbone. ... No, blood isn't spurting out of anything. I think I've been seriously injured enough times to know that's important. Look, expense is no problem... How much? God, that's pretty steep. I won't get the royalty checks from Dad's inventions for another month..." Dr. Venture looked down at the little girl who was groaning as she lay on the mattress. "Well, she did get injured at Dean's convention and if they go after Dean they'll just be going after me. So, OK, whatever it will take. But - Peter White is no anesthesiologist. If anyone is going to pass gas I want to see a real medical degree attached to their name! ...Well, if he wears a dress I'll let him pass as a nurse. ...No, it's got to be a dress. Don't make me insist on the hat! OK, great. So Gary is off to met the Monarch so, let's' say a half hour- 45 minutes. We'll either be all dead, or the Monarch will be gone. See you then."

He hung up. Tiffany had started wailing when she heard Dr Venture joke about them all being dead soon. "What?" he asked. ":It was just a joke. We're perfectly safe in here." When that failed to console the girl he walked back to the front of the Panic Room and stared out of the window in the door.


	5. Chapter 5

"Minions! Kill everybody. Let there be no survivors. And-" The Monarch paused dramatically "- bring me the head of Dr. Venture!"

Men in butterfly costumes had bust through the double doors of the entrance to Workroom No 3. They spread out across the front of the large room, dart guns at ready as they prepared for assault from...

They looked about in confusion at the room, empty of anyone but one beefy guy in an blue Venture Enterprises uniform, a dark haired, lanky boy dressed in a geeky brown suit, and a small black girl armed with a couple hard covered books in her hands.

"Over my dead body!"

The challenged echoed in the cement block walls off the Workroom.

The Monarch turned to see who was challenging him. Standing between two piles of tables and chairs was Henchman 21. Former henchman 21. Soon to be ex- everything.

"You!" The Monarch sneered. "Gladly! Minions! Kill the traitorous former henchman. No one scorns the Monarch and lives to tell about!"

"Stop!" A thin voice shouted. "None of you are paid members of VentureCon 1 and I must ask you to leave the convention site immediately!"

"What?" the Monarch shouted, looking around to see who had spoken. His attention focus on the little black girl standing next to Dean Venture. She was leaning forwarding, fairly vibrating with emotion.

"You!" he shouted, "Who are you to tell the Monarch what he may or may not do?"

"I'm Heather Calmback, co-chair of VentureCon 1, in charge of membership! And until and unless you buy memberships to this convention you are trespassing, and you will be asked to leave."

"Or what, girly? Going to tell my mommy on me- ow! that hurt. What the hell was that?"

The Monarch was clutching at his face where a bruise was starting to form under his left eye. At his feet lay a hard cover copy of Giant Boy Detective #26: Mystery of the Vacation That Wasn't.

"You threw a book at me?" The Monarch cried. "Do you think you can scare me off by throwing - ow! Stop that! You could put someone's eye out!"

"Not until you pay your membership fees or leave the convention!" Heather shouted back. "I've got a lot of books ready."

"Gaa!" The Monarch snorted. "Dean - Dean Venture, you've always been a sensible sort. Are you going to let some little girl tell you what to do?"

"Heather's right. This is VentureCon 1 and you're trespassing! So either pay up or get out!" Dean shouted. His shout wasn't as authoritative as Heather's but he had picked up a book from the pile of abandoned dealer's stock and was hefting it speculatively.

"Oh, come on, Dean. All we want is your father's head. Let us get that and we'll go. Your little 'convention' won't be bothered a minute more."

"Let you cut off Pop's head? That's sick!" And to back up his point, Dean threw the book at the Monarch. It fell short, knocking out one of the minions instead.

"Seriously, Dean, is that the best you've got? Books and one feisty little girl -"

"I'm fourteen, don't call me 'little'!" Heather interrupted.

"And he's got me!" Gary voice boomed over the PA. He tossed away the microphone he'd been holding and clicked the button that released the blades strapped above his wrists. "By this ax I rule," he shouted, quoted from an old Conan story. "Who dies first?"

He let the light glitter on the blades for a moment. Older henchmen remembered Gary's stand on knives. He trained with them constantly. He was savage with the knives. None of the remaining henchmen were old enough to remember when Gary had been an out-of-shape, danger avoiding geek who preferred reading about people doing exciting, dangerous things than doing them himself. Those minions had all been killed one way or another. The Monarch was hard on his henchmen. Only Gary had survived though those days - avoiding trouble rather than putting his life on the line for the Monarch.

And then his best friend, henchman 24, had been killed during one of the Monarch's ill-planned attacks and Gary had been changed forever. Determined to make something of his life, Gary had trained and trained and trained until he was the sort of bad-ass he'd always read about. Until he was "General 21," the most feared minion in the Cocoon. The henchmen lined up before the barricade remembered General 21. They didn't maybe understand why he was talking about an ax when he was holding knives, but at the moment they understood "Who dies first..." They were pretty sure that they didn't want that honor.

"What are you waiting for?" the Monarch screamed. "You!" He pointed to a minion at random. "Why aren't you attacking?"

The minion made the mistake of answering. "He has a pretty big knife, sir!"

"Wrong! The Monarch shouted as he fired a dart into the man's neck. "It's because you're a coward?" he turned to face the rest of the minions, "Are there any more cowards among you?"

In the back someone raised a hand. The Monarch fired another dart, taking the man in the eye. "Next time I won't use an anesthetic dart!" he shouted. "Now get that man because I start going after you!" He aimed the thick cuff on his uniform where the darts were loaded at the henchmen nearest him. There was a sudden surge towards the near gap where Gary stood waiting.

Henchman Eleven hadn't intended to be the first to die. He was trying to find some way to back away from the gap in the furniture when the surge of advancing minions picked him up and dashed him towards the point of one of Gary's knives. His scream of "No!" was short lived.

Gary had to turn sideways to allow the late No. 11 to slide off his blade. He backhanded the next minion with other hand, leaving a vivid scar across his face, while slashing another minion as he stumbled pass. Blood from severed arteries sprayed everywhere.

He slashed at a couple minions, then nearly tripped over one of the bodies lying at his feet. A minion flung himself at the unawares OSI agent only to collapse when a large, omnibus volume took him in the head. A couple more books flew by, giving Gary time to regain his feet. He slung the blood off his knives into the face of the hesitating minions. Slowly they backed away from the man with the knives strapped to his arms.

At first pressure from the crowds behind the minions had forced the first few forward. As blood and screams filled the large convention hall the remaining minions fell back, unwilling to risk certain death to lay hands on Gary Fuu.

"Use your guns, you idiots!" The Monarch screeched.

A score of the henchmen looked down to their hands and were surprised to find that they had been holding their dart guns all along. It's amazing what people will forget when they are surrounded by immediate, physical danger. "Even numbered minions - to your knees and aim at the renegade. Odd numbered minions form up in a row standing above the knelling minions. At my command, fire!"

Half the minions at once fired, enraging the Monarch. "Did I tell you to fight? No. I told you to wait until I tell you to fire!"

And another salvo of darts filled the air.

"Jesus, you people are fricking morons. Oh, hell, just fire. Fire at will. Who ever killed that renegade gets an immediate promotion!"

It took mere second for the minions to run out of darts. And when the air clear they saw Gary holding a lightweight, plastic cafeteria chair in one hand. It's flimsy seat was covered in anesthetic darts. None were on Gary.

He through down the chair and held out his hand towards the Monarch. He motioned for the Monarch to come closer. "Let's finish this off, old man. Mano-y-mano. Assuming you're man enough to take me on!"

The Monarch screamed and pointed his wrist blaster at Gary. "I'll show you 'mano-y-mano' I'll mano your fricking ass off..."

"Monarch! What the hell is going on?" a deep, gravelly voice asked from the doorway. The Monarch turned to see Dr. Mrs. The Monarch standing there with one hell of an angry expression on her face.

He laughed nervously. "Ah, sweetie, back from the hairdresser already? Your hair looks wonderful"

Dr. Mrs. The Monarch was dressed in full costume, black body suit with gold trim, open the navel, knee high boots and flimsy, filmy transparent wings trailing behind her. Her hair was impeccably combed forming a large helmet around her head. The minions stopped what they were doing just to watch her walk into the room and cross over to the Monarch, her husband.

"You said you had a splitting headache and were taking a nap. I go in to town for a couple hours to get my hair done and when I get back the Cocoon is no where to be seen. I had to look all around the county to find it. And what do I find when I finally find it?"

"That I had moved it?" The Monarch ventured. He hated arguing with his wife in front of the minions, because it destroyed their respect for him. But mostly because Dr. Mrs. The Monarch never argued in public unless she was absolutely, totally right.

"And where did you move it? To the Venture Compound! And what are you doing on the Venture Compound. Apparently _not_ attending a sci fi convention.

"It's not a sci fi convention. It's a celebra-" Heather attempted to correct.

"You keep out of this, missy!" Dr. Mrs The Monarch thundered, shaking her gloved finger at her. "If not for me, you'd be a grease stain by morning!"

Heather cocked her arm back. Dean grabbed at her and whispered urgently into her ear, explaining why for just this one day the crazy lady in the black and gold outfit was their friend. 

Dr. Mrs. The Monarch turned back to the Monarch. "So what are you doing here – without me?"

"I've come to collect the head of Dr. Thaddeus Venture!" the Monarch shouted. He tended to shout whenever the issue of Dr. Venture came up.

"Apparently without me," Dr. Mrs. The Monarch reminded him. "Do you remember our wedding vows?"

"To love, honor and cherish?" The Monarch ventured. The wedding had always been something of a technicality to him, a way to keep Dr. Girlfriend with him and not in the arms of some low-life like Phantom Limb. The details were kind of fuzzy.

"And that we were a duocracy!" Dr. Mrs. The Monarch raised her voice. "We promised to do everything together. To live together, to work together, to plan together and to Arch together! And what exactly are you doing here?"

"Ummm"

"You were Arching Dr. Venture, that's what you were doing. You were Arching without me! Is this how you treat our wedding vows? As something to honor only when I'm around?"

The Monarch sensed a trap in that question so he clamped his mouth shut before a "yes" could bubble out.

"We are a duocracy and don't you forget it!" Dr. Mrs. The Monarch looked around at the henchmen scattered around the room, some living, some dead., then called out: "Minions! Fall In! Single File back to the Cocoon!"

"Dr. Mrs. Ma'am," one of the minions ventured, "what about our dead?"

She looked annoyed at the henchman and took a slow count before answering. "Let the Ventures take care of them. Take the injured with us. The dying... they're no use to us. Leave them." She turned to her husband and told him, "We're going to have a long talk about the future of our marriage tonight"

Number 6, the head minion broke off a couple details to check on their fallen comrades. Heather shivered as they silently went about their task. "That is so cold," she whispered to Dean, "just abandoning their people like that."

"Is it safe to come out yet?" a voice called from the back of the room. A head poked itself out from under the speaker's table.

:Mr. Pettigrew!" Heather exclaimed and run over to help him to his feet. Dean followed somewhat slower. They lead the shaken guest of honor over next to Gary, which at the moment seemed the safest place in the room.

"Why didn't you run away when I told you to?" Gary asked.

"At my age, running is not an option."

"What about your driver?"

"I fear he's over there under that pile of rubbish." Pettigrew pointed to a block of ceiling rubble. A pair of feet could be seen sticking out from under it.

"Why didn't you just grab the keys and drive yourself," Dean wondered.

"I don't know how to drive." Winston Pettigrew grew himself up in an aggrieved manner. "I live in New York City. Nobody there drives There are too many cars."

"I'll take you back to your hotel," an unexpected voice offered, "on one condition."

Pettigrew looked in amazement at the black and gold, barely there costume of Dr. Mrs. The Monarch. "Anything," he said.

"Sign my book." She bent over and rummaged in the pile of books Dean had dumped on the floor when he was constructing the wall of tables defense. She found one she liked and handed it to the author.

"Do you have a pen?" he asked. "I seemed to have lost all of mine."

"Does it look like I've got a pen anyway in this costume," Dr. Mrs The Monarch replied. Heather fished around in the frizzy pile hair over one ear and pulled out a ballpoint. "Here," she said.

With a thank you, Pettigrew opened the book, a recent printing of the first volume, and asked who to make it out to.

"Sheila Kowalski. And add 'For one unforgettable day.'"

"I dare say I shant forget this day, however much I try." The old man said as he scribbled the words on the frontispiece.

Dr. Mrs. The Monarch walked over to the body of the chauffeur and fished in his pockets until she found the keys to the Bentley. "I've never driven a Bentley before. This should be fun."

Winston Pettigrew handed the book to her when she returned. She paused to admire the inscription, then tucked the book under one arm and the little man under the and headed for the door.

She paused next to Dean. "If you are demented enough to hold another convention next year do send a flyer to the mail box listed on my registration card. And no where else!" And with that she lead the guest of honor out of the shambles that was VentureCon 1.

"Next year?" Dean whimpered.

"Your dad's expecting it." Gary laughed.

Heather shook her head. "Are you people insane?"


End file.
